Cottage at the Beach (The Off Season)

by Lee Tobin McClain

  “What was it like in the storm?” Rory asked.

  The kids were leaning forward, engaged, and Erica felt a rush of satisfaction inside. She had debated whether to have them do book research first, but had decided that having real individuals talk about their experiences would give them more enthusiasm to do research. She’d even invited Principal O’Neil to stop in if he had time, hoping that if he saw the community members connecting with the kids, it would improve his attitude toward the behavior support program.

  She couldn’t help glancing at Trey to see how this activity was going over with him. He was watching the kids, and then he glanced over at her and gave a nod, as if to show approval of her strategy.

  Of course she felt warmed by his approval. Just because she had decided not to respond to her feelings didn’t mean she didn’t have them.

  Before she could get too far into mooning about Trey, the conversation took a turn. “The wealthy new folks have overrun the island,” Mr. James said, “and their houses are pretty near stormproof. Ours aren’t. But back in the day, we all helped each other. Had to, because nobody had much.”

  “Those were good times,” Lindy said. “But I know for a fact that my gas station wouldn’t make it with just the old residents. It’s the new folks and the tourists who give me the most business.”

  “The same people that built the giant houses that block our view,” Kirk muttered. “Used to be able to see the bay from my place, but no more.”

  Mr. James nodded, the corners of his mouth turning down. “That part’s a shame. I always did love looking out at the bay.”

  “That’s not fair for them to do that,” Shane said indignantly, and the rest of the students quickly agreed.

  “Just because they’re rich,” Rory added, “that doesn’t give them the right to block your view.”

  “We should do something about it,” Venus said.

  Erica glanced over at Trey and saw on his face the same mixture of pride and amusement that she felt. It was no surprise to most adults that people with money had more power in the world, but it was news to a lot of children and teens. That their kids’ first response was indignation—and a desire to change things—was sweet, impressive, given their backgrounds.

  A throat cleared in the back of the room. Erica hadn’t noticed that Principal O’Neil had come in. Now he was frowning, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. He was always kowtowing to the new residents, trying to get them to send their kids to his school.

  The last thing he would want was for the old residents to talk about how things had been better before the wealthy people had moved in, let alone have the kids get an attitude about the wealthier locals.

  She wanted to keep the students engaged, doing positive things, understanding about and helping the community. That was the true basis of the hurricane unit. The fact that it had helped her distract herself from Trey’s kisses had been an added plus, but not the core reason.

  Despite her motivations, though, if Principal O’Neil used the unit as evidence against the program, her preparations had backfired.

  There was a knock on the door, and Erica hurried to open it, racking her brain to remember if someone else she’d invited to present had agreed to come at the last minute. She’d thought the other two elders had sent their regrets, but she could have missed an email.

  She opened the door, her mouth open to apologize. And snapped it shut again.

  There was an older man outside the door, all right. A long-haired, beard-stubbled, very handsome man, looking at her with Trey’s eyes. “Heard I might find my son here, sweetheart,” he said in a husky voice. “You know a guy by the name of Trey Harrison?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TREY GOT HIS father away from the school as fast as possible, ignoring stares from O’Neil, the kids and Erica.

  It felt familiar. He remembered many occasions when his father had shown up out of the blue: when Trey was in class, or trying out for the baseball team, or running an errand for his foster mother. Chaos usually accompanied his arrival.

  Dad didn’t have a car—he’d hitchhiked here—so they ambled down toward the water. Trey turned them away from town, knowing what his father liked. And maybe, a little bit, trying not to contaminate his own image in Pleasant Shores. He wasn’t proud of that motivation, but he recognized it from long experience. They headed toward the docks where the crabbers came in. There was a cheap little bar down there, of the sort his father liked.

  “Not a cop anymore, huh?” Dad said.

  The mixed feelings in his father’s voice reminded Trey how Dad had always been intimidated by him being a cop and, in equal parts, proud of it. “Not for now,” he said, “but I’ll probably go back to it.”

  His father stopped walking to stare at him. “Back to Philly? Don’t you like it here?”

  Trey shrugged. “It’s more of a family place, this town,” he said.

  His father studied him. “There’s all kind of families.” He kicked a stone and started walking again. “Ours wasn’t the best. But I always loved you.”

  The outright expression of emotion surprised Trey, and he studied his father. It had been more than a year since he’d seen the man, and maybe something was wrong. “Are you sick? Dying?”

  Dad let out a laugh, big and loud. “No, I just wanted to see my boy.” He patted Trey’s shoulder. “Called your buddy Denny last night and found out that you were here, so I made a little detour this way. Not for long, though. Heading south. Think I have a job on an oil rig.”

  “Glad you came.” And Trey was. As troubled as their relationship was, he, too, loved his father.

  And he was also aware of what his father usually wanted. “How are you doing really? Need anything?”

  Dad glanced over at him, then looked off toward the bay. “Lost my job, but I’ve about got that straightened up. There was a woman... She’s not around anymore.” He shrugged. “Happens.”

  In the forced carelessness of his father’s tone, Trey heard himself. Like his dad, he sort of wanted to run free without attachments, but sort of regretted the loss. In Trey, there was definitely a longing for more.

  They were coming close to the docks, and noise came from the little bar. It looked utterly unappealing to Trey, and on impulse he decided he wasn’t doing that. Not here, not in Pleasant Shores. “Let’s turn around,” he said. “I’ll buy you lunch at a place called Goody’s.”

  “I’m hungry and thirsty both,” Dad said, mild protest in his voice. He wasn’t exactly an alcoholic, but on days he wasn’t working, he usually started drinking by noon.

  “I’m just hungry. Let’s get lunch. Goody’s has ice cream that will knock your socks off. And then I can set you up with some money.” Not that he had that much, but this was his father.

  His father glanced sideways at him. “You were always better than me, son. Even when you were a boy.”

  “I got in plenty of trouble.”

  “Yeah, a little, like most kids. But you were always responsible. Always tried to make me eat a good meal before I went out drinking. Told me when you sensed something bad about a woman.”

  A smile quirked Trey’s mouth as he remembered a few of those choice conversations. “Seems to me you didn’t listen real often.”

  “Not your fault.” They walked into Goody’s, and Trey placed an order: crab cake sandwiches, fries, coleslaw. While they waited, they scanned the ice cream bins, talking about the past. “Your foster family always thought the world of you.” Dad smiled and nodded. “Yeah, you caused a little trouble, but they said you had a heart of gold. They wanted to adopt you, but I said no. I was wrong.”

  “They wanted to adopt me?” Trey was shocked. “I never heard a word about that.”

  His father shrugged. “Most likely, they didn’t bring it up because they wanted to be supportive of the biological family. That’s what foste
r families were told to do.”

  “You mean...me and you?” Trey had never looked at himself and his father as a family. More like a couple of wandering troublemakers.

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t give you up.” His father looked down at his well-worn work boots. “I was selfish.”

  Trey thought about that while they picked up their lunches and sat down at one of the little tables to eat. He’d always thought of himself as unwanted, but here Dad was making it sound like he was wanted by both his own father and his foster family. That was a different take on his childhood.

  After they’d eaten, Dad claimed to be too full for ice cream, said he needed to go. They walked together to the cash machine and Trey got out a couple hundred bucks for his father. Not much, but it was all he could spare right now. And he was fairly sure his father wouldn’t use the money wisely.

  “Not sure when I’ll see you again.” Dad gave him a little hug, thumped his back.

  “This isn’t a bad town, if you’re looking to settle for a while,” Trey heard himself say.

  His father looked up at him, his weathered face crinkling into a big smile. “Not now, but...thanks. You’re a good son.” He patted Trey’s shoulder awkwardly and walked off down the street.

  Trey thought about calling after him, asking him how he was going to get down south, but Dad always had it covered. He’d hitchhike, or meet a lady, or figure out a way to ride a train. He wasn’t going to change.

  But as Trey watched his father disappear, he found his throat tightening up. Blood was blood. And being here in Pleasant Shores, feeling a part of the community, must have softened him some, made him emotional.

  Plus, his father had given him something to think about, a revised view of the past. He still wasn’t sure he’d had a heart of gold, back then, but maybe he hadn’t been as unlovable as he’d always thought.

  * * *

  ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, Julie groaned as she rolled up her yoga mat and pushed herself to her feet to join Erica and her sister, Amber. Yoga in the Park might have been a mistake.

  She felt stretched and sore and out of shape, and there was something weird going on with the muscles in the back of her left leg.

  Still, the sun was bright and the greenery soothed her soul and continued to make her feel relaxed. Looking around at the fifteen or so women who were stretching or gathering their things or standing in little clusters, talking, she noticed that their expressions were happier now, their voices calmer than they’d been before class. Julie felt better mentally, too.

  She put her bag over her shoulder and a little spasm crossed her back, making her wince.

  “What do you think?” Erica laughed as she studied Julie’s face. “Wait—don’t answer that. And don’t be mad at me for inviting you.”

  Julie stretched her neck and twisted it from side to side, turtle-like. “I’m glad you invited me. I’m just in a little pain.”

  “You’re not the only one.” Amber tossed the words over her shoulder as she headed for a stone bench. “I thought yoga was supposed to be easy and relaxing. My sister lied.”

  “You both did great.” Erica started toward the bench and then turned to wait for Julie. “Come on. Let’s sit for a few.”

  Julie followed Erica toward her sister, studying the two girls. No mistaking their family resemblance. Both were thin, with classic bone structure and wide, full mouths. But Amber sported a sleeve of tattoos and a nose piercing and was wearing a Harley-Davidson T-shirt with her tight black leggings. Erica’s classic yoga cover-up and capris were a soft pink and she had no piercings that Julie could see.

  The more striking difference, of course, was that Amber wore a head scarf and had the trademark lack of eyelashes that marked a tough round of chemo. She looked like she’d been through a battle, and according to the little Erica had told Julie, she had. Ovarian cancer, stage III. Poor kid.

  A breeze cooled the back of Julie’s neck and she lifted her hair off it. The time for her haircut had come and gone, twice, but she hadn’t made an appointment. The first time, she’d been too depressed to bother. The second time, she’d decided longer hair would better disguise her chubby cheeks.

  Today, she just wanted to cut it all off.

  “It’s so hot!” Erica said as she reached the bench and sank down beside her sister.

  “I know. I’m dying.” Amber fanned herself with her hand.

  Julie sat beside the pair. “You young girls don’t have a clue what it means to be hot. Wait until you hit menopause.”

  The sisters glanced at each other as if debating whether to say something. “We’re not all that young,” Amber said finally.

  “You don’t look old enough to have a daughter in high school. You look great.” Julie reached across Erica to pat Amber’s hand. Amber’s situation broke her heart. “It’s sweet that you two invited me, considering that I’m more your mother’s age than your own.”

  “I’m glad we’re getting to be friends,” Erica said. “You know, we miss our mom every day. You’re a little bit like her.”

  They sat back and watched the rest of the class packing up to leave. Most of the attendees were younger than Julie was, and almost all of them were thinner. But they’d been pleasant, friendly. She hadn’t been the only one to struggle with some of the poses. The instructor had shown variations on each one and urged everyone to take things at their own pace, depending on their fitness level.

  “Listen to your body,” she’d encouraged repeatedly in her gentle voice.

  God willing, Julie’s body would soon be singing a fitter and leaner tune.

  One of their classmates, clearly a yoga expert and also clearly pregnant, had been doing extra stretches on her mat. Now she shaded her eyes to look across the parking lot. Then she rolled up her mat, rose effortlessly to her feet and hurried across the sand. A good-looking man and a little boy were waiting for her, and she kissed the man’s cheek and wrapped her arms around the child before they all headed off, talking in an animated fashion.

  “I remember those days, being pregnant, then a young mom,” Julie said dreamily. “Best thing I ever did.”

  And now Melvin’s giving that same experience to another woman. He was probably taking care of her, lifting things, opening doors. Going out for ice cream or sour-cream-and-onion potato chips in the middle of the night, just as he’d done for Julie when she’d been carrying Ria.

  She fought off the image in her mind and willed herself to stay in the moment. But when she looked at her companions, she realized that Erica was staring down at the ground, lines creasing her forehead, while Amber had put an arm around her and was patting her shoulder.

  “What is it, honey?” Julie asked.

  “It’s okay,” Erica said, the tiny waver in her voice belying her words. “I’m fine.”

  Amber looked across Erica’s slumped shoulders. “It’s the motherhood thing. I mean, we were raised to think it’s the highest calling. Even though I had Hannah unplanned, as a single mom, she’s been the best thing in my life. But no more kids for me. The cancer.” She glanced at Erica.

  A terrible feeling rose in Julie. “You don’t have cancer, too, do you?” she asked Erica.

  “No. No, I don’t. But...” She drew in a deep breath. “I have a genetic mutation that makes it likely I’ll get it, though, so...”

  “Oh, no.”

  Erica nodded. “I had a hysterectomy.” She drew in another breath. “Which is the best way to stay safe, but...”

  Amber pulled her closer. “I helped talk her into it,” she said. “Me and Hannah. No way do I want my little sis going through what I’m going through, and if something happens to me...”

  Julie leaned over and hugged Erica. “That’s so sad,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Erica’s voice was muffled.

  “But there are lots of way
s Erica can mother children,” Amber said, giving Julie a stern glance.

  “Yes, of course!” Just like there were lots of ways Julie could contribute even if her time as an active mother was over. “I’m sure you’re a terrific aunt, and there’s foster care, adoption...and you’re a wonderful teacher. Everyone says so.”

  She was blathering, and she snapped her mouth shut. There could be no easy way around a hugely disappointing loss like that.

  She’d sort of thought she was helping these girls who’d lost their mother, being an older, reassuring force in their lives. But now she felt awkward for saying the wrong thing.

  The yoga instructor walked over at the same time Earl Greene did.

  “Hey, no loitering,” Earl said, joking.

  “Sorry!” Julie stood and smiled at him. Normally, she’d have felt funny in front of a man in the old sweats that were her version of yoga gear. Earl, though, had seen her at her worst, during the days he and his wife had been couple friends with her and Melvin.

  The two Rowe girls stood and greeted Earl, and introduced him to the yoga instructor.

  “We’ve got to get you out on the yoga mats next time,” the instructor said.

  “I could use the exercise.” He patted his rounded belly. “Unfortunately, the classes happen when I’m on duty. And I can’t even touch my toes, so I don’t think I could do yoga.”

  Across the street, Melvin’s new squeeze walked by, her slight baby bump visible from this angle. Julie’s stomach clenched, her good mood fleeing.

  “Hey,” the yoga instructor said, “isn’t that Ashley Corrigan? I didn’t know she was pregnant.”

  Earl cleared his throat. “No, no, I don’t think that’s her.”

  “I’m sure it is,” the instructor went on chattily. “I used to see her with an older dude. Like, a couple years ago.”

  Julie’s heart rate quickened. Did Ashley have a thing for older men? Or... “What did he look like?” she asked the instructor, trying for a carefree tone.