Return by Sea (Glacier Adventure Series Book 3)

by Tracey Jerald

  “What do you mean? Smith’s Brewhouse is a respectable business,” I argue with Sirona Gustofson, the home study case worker who’s come to perform an initial home visit.

  “It’s a bar, Ms. Smith,” she repeats her earlier misconception—something Jed and I worked for years to overcome. “What kind of place is that to raise a child?”

  Keep calm. I can practically hear my brother’s voice warning me. Picking up a glass of water, I take a drink before responding. “First, I own the Brewhouse, Mrs. Gustofson. I don’t live there.”

  “Though, by your own admission, it is possible you may have to cover shifts,” she volleys.

  “Of course,” I say, exasperated. “But doesn’t that demonstrate my willingness to support my employees?”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  She doesn’t say anything but continues to scribble in her interminable notebook that I want to snatch out of her hands and toss into the fire I made up before she arrived. Despite the pleasant weather outside, I felt a chill deep inside. Now, I know why.

  “I’d also like to address your point about the Brewhouse being ‘just a bar.’” My pride in my job crashes up against her insult, leaving my voice somewhere just short of arctic.

  That stops her pen moving. Placing the notebook aside, she reaches for a folder. Without a word, she hands it to me.

  I flip it open to find printouts for some of the more interesting media coverage we’ve received for some of the drunk and disorderliness over the last ten years. Even while I flip through them, my heart stops when I come across a picture of me and Jed I didn’t know existed beneath an editorial that reads, “Brother/Sister improving Smith’s? To be determined.”

  My fingers trace over my brother’s beloved face. “What would you do, Jedidiah?” I ask aloud.

  “Excuse me?” Mrs. Gustofson asks.

  Without answering her, I place the folder on the coffee table and stand. I move to the built-ins that are on either side of the fireplace and pull down three thick albums. “Here. Take a few moments to look through these.” I hand her three photo albums.

  She makes an umphh sound under the weight. “What’s this?”

  “The part of the story you apparently don’t want to hear.” Moving back over to my chair, I pick up my water as the news articles about how Smith’s closed for six months for renovations is told, the interviews Jed and I gave to tout Smith’s as a family-friendly restaurant first. I can still remember him booming into the camera, “We want Smith’s to grow along with all of the generations of Juneau families. We want to see families, celebrate them, and then watch the next generation come in. That’s what Smith’s was founded on.”

  The article Mrs. Gustofson showed me which questioned whether or not Jed and I would make a success of the business was as much to do with Jed’s decision to move permanently to Florida. For all we’d worked to sell the idea of being the next generation of Smith’s, Jed’s decision to move almost derailed the business permanently. But that was something I kept from him. After all, he found something a hell of a lot more precious than the Brewhouse.

  He found love.

  There were so many things I never got the chance to tell him, I think listlessly. And now, all I can do is write them down as I find scraps of him around this house as I prepare for what I’m certain is his soul trying to come back to me.

  “Who would be home with your child while you’re dealing with business needs? You’ll be out all hours while a young boy entrusted to your care is home.” Mrs. Gustofson’s words drag me from my thoughts as she once again puts her pen to paper

  I frown. “I’ll engage someone to be with them, of course.” Like I’d leave a stranger with David.

  “I need to know who those individuals are, Ms. Smith. It’s important I formally inquire about those individuals.”

  “And what if I was a single woman who was a doctor or a nurse? Would you be quite so interested in their future caregivers?” I can’t help the bitterness that seeps into my voice as the blasted woman hasn’t said a single word about the part of my soul I bared that’s sitting on her lap.

  “Excuse me?” Mrs. Gustofson’s head snaps up, my question catching her off guard.

  Sliding to the edge of my seat, I brace my hands on my knees. “I believe you heard me.”

  Nothing is said between us, but neither is her pen moving. I continue. “Life will always have emergencies, Mrs. Gustofson. The only thing we can do is prepare for them. And even then, sometimes that just isn’t enough. If what you’re asking me is would I allow anything at the Brewhouse to supersede my child, the answer is an unequivocal no. It didn’t when my parents raised us. But whether I was a doctor, a nurse, a fireman, or a police officer, I have close friends who are the equivalent of my family. I’d lay my life down for their children, and I’m certain they would do the same for mine. Calling them because of an emergency—whether that means sending them to handle it or they stay with my child—is the least of what they would do.”

  “It’s good to know you have friends like that.”

  “It’s good that the child I want to adopt will be raised by a family that includes people who will love him so unselfishly,” I counter. “A child needs a permanent, loving home, and this state declares it will permit a single parent, unmarried, to adopt a child. For you to try to block this adoption because you hold some sort of grudge against my profession is—in my opinion—frankly discriminatory. I own a successful business. I delegate responsibilities. And I’m ready to do more of that if necessary. In truth, I’m better off in many ways than a doctor, nurse, or anyone else you’re mentally comparing me against because they answer to someone else; I answer to no one but myself and my own conscience.”

  I sit back, lace my fingers over my stomach, and wait for her response.

  Her expression gives nothing away as she makes a few notes in her file. Long minutes pass where the scratching of the pen against the paper drives me out of my mind.

  When Mrs. Gustofson finally asks me the next question, I want to slump in my chair in relief. “Your friends? They would be willing to provide affidavits validating their willingness to support you.”

  Having already anticipated this, I reach down and pull out sealed envelopes from Isler. “Brad and Rainey Meyers. Plus Sarah and Hung Li, the existing foster parents. Brad and Rainey said you are welcome to contact them if you need to visit their home as well.”

  Nonplussed, it takes Mrs. Gustofson a moment to accept the envelopes. “You’ve done your research,” she comments as the barest hint of a smile crosses her face.

  “Yes, I have.”

  She makes notes in her file before slipping the sealed envelopes inside. She then tears off a receipt and hands it to me. After scanning it, I see it’s a formal acknowledgment of the receipt of the letters. Placing it on my box of papers next to me, I sit back and cross my legs.

  “A friend who went through the process?” she persists.

  I tip my head. “From high school. And another friend of my brothers who was fostered in his teens.”

  She frowns before flipping back to the front of her file. “I can see where that would make an impact.”

  Unfolding myself, I lean forward until my eyes hold hers. “I think you have a better understanding of why I appreciate what it’s like to be raised by someone who loves you. That no matter what, I will be someone who will love my child exactly for who they are.”

  I heard similar words from Jed a lot. Especially after the night Nick won the title belt.

  Damnit, my brother would have made a great father.

  Several hours later, Mrs. Gustofson indicates she’d like to come by Smith’s one night to get an honest feel for the place. “I deeply apologize that my misconceptions put a tarnish on our initial meeting.” Standing in the foyer of my home, she admits, “You have a lovely home, Ms. Smith.”

  “Thank you. Up until recently, I wished I didn’t.”

  Her head ti
ps to the side. “Why?”

  “Because to inherit it, I lost the last member of my family. There is no amount of money worth losing love.” I wave a hand dismissively around. “If I could have one more night to speak with my brother, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t give up, including this home.”

  “Even the chance at your future with a child?” she probes quietly.

  My jaw falls open, but no words come out. Then the realization strikes me in the chest, and I whisper, “No.” Tears prick my eyes. “Not even for Jed could I give up this chance at love. He wouldn’t want me to.”

  Shocking me after the hours of interrogation, Mrs. Gustofson’s mask of professionalism drops. She reaches out and clasps my hand. “You’re a fiery and strong young woman, Maris.”

  “Young is the one thing I’m really not.”

  “Try it from my vantage point,” she retorts.

  My lips curve. “Then thank you.”

  “I was just going to add, I’ve experienced loss.” And for just a moment, I see the seasoned pain on her face.

  “The pain doesn’t go away, does it?” I ask tentatively.

  She shakes her head. “But life has to go on. Sometimes the days go by and you’ll forget. At first, it will be just a moment. Then hours. This—what you’re doing—will be good for you. A child, they can bring you such joy.” Then her face turns to a blank mask once again. “But anyway, you’ll be hearing from me soon.” She reaches for the door handle.

  “Mrs. Gustofson?” Her head turns back. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For doing what you do. Otherwise, people like me would never have had a chance all those years ago.”

  With a brisk nod, she opens the door and sails out. I lean against the jamb until she pulls out of the driveway. Finally, I close the door and head back upstairs to right my living room. Next to my water is the pile of newspaper clippings I was handed about Smith’s. “Shit. I’ll have to call Mrs. Gustofson to let her know I have them.” Rubbing my head wearily, I know I should do it right now, but I just can’t.

  Besides, I have something important to do first.

  Pulling out my phone, I find the article with the image of Jed and me. Quickly using the scan feature, I contact the editor of the local paper and ask him if he can make me a copy of the picture. Then, I call Kara.

  She answers on the first ring. “How did it go?”

  “Well, I only partially lost my temper when she called Smith’s a bar. But I started to cry when I admitted I wanted this more than I wanted to see Jed again. And in between, I answered pretty much every question under the sun that didn’t involve a rectal probe.”

  “So, what you’re saying is you need a hug?”

  “God, I need one so bad.”

  She puts her hand over her mouthpiece. “Jennings says I can be there in the morning. Just give him the word and he’ll fuel the plane.”

  “I’m not having you get on a plane.”

  “Then tell me what you need,” she pleads.

  “Talk to me. Just talk to me.”

  “That I’ll do anytime, anywhere.” With that, Kara begins to tell me all about her day. And for a little while, I’m transported back in time to where we used to do just this. Just talk and be us. Long before each of us met the men we’d fall in love with. Long before Jed and Dean would meet.

  And well before they died.

  Maris

  “Maris is the most loyal human in the world. She would be utterly devastated if she ever knew I was aware of Kara and her son Kevin before I took that trip to Florida where I fell in love with Dean. But if she ever found out, I knew she would forgive me. She would just never forgive herself.” - From the journals of Jedidiah Smith.

  “I’m sorry. Would you care to repeat what you said?” I try to get the words out with a straight face.

  Rainey growls, “You heard me.”

  And we all laugh.

  I figured a FaceTime with my three best friends would be a great way to relieve my anxiety after my visit with Mrs. Gustafson. Instead, I’m debating pouring more than a respectable amount of whiskey into my cup of tea over the unsurprising yet amusing announcement Rainey just declared about working part-time for Brad. “Anyone else have any updates?” I take a sip of tea.

  “Like what?” Kara chides. Her hand rests on her stomach, protectively covering Jennings’s and her second child. So many emotions swirl inside me every time her incandescent glow appears on my screen. I want to twirl in a circle with my arms in the air before I lock myself into a room and shed a few tears out of selfish pain. Yet I can’t help but think, Look at what you did, Jed. Even from beyond the grave you managed to get two of the people you loved most in the world back together where they belonged.

  Love. People recognize barriers like air, land, and sea as mere excuses when the reality is the only thing that holds them back from experiencing the purity of the heart is fear. Did I use the so-called heartache over Nick to hide my real fears about love and family after the abrupt loss of my dreams? After all, it was easy to then layer the pain of one loss with another. My own heartache has caused too many vicious words to lie between us now. Hasn’t it? But now’s not the time to think about Nick. Tonight’s a night to celebrate.

  I force a wonky smile onto my face. “God, I can’t believe you got knocked up again and can’t drink with us.”

  Meadow and Rainey are wearing shit-eating expressions as well. The two sisters tied themselves to two of the men Kara and I affectionately dubbed “the Jacks”—a poker vernacular that means to raise the pot. Kara and I used it as a warning the men we were so enamored by were about to encroach on our conversations.

  Meadow declares, “I’m glad Kody is happy with the two we have. I can’t imagine pushing out another baby.”

  “Not to mention your hoo-ha being out of commission for Tinkertoy,” I drawl, sending all of us into hysterics with my use of Kody’s nickname based on his being the owner of a construction company that makes custom homes.

  “I’m not saying a word,” Meadow demurs, but there’s a glint to her eyes that has Rainey asking, “Been on any picnics lately?” before a bright red heat floods across Meadow’s cheeks and we all begin to giggle.

  Putting her fingers to her mouth and whistling, Meadow redirects us back to Kara. “Have you thought of names? Will you name the baby after Jennings if it’s a boy?”

  “Half the time, I forget Jennings isn’t his first name,” Rainey confesses.

  Kara twiddles with the hem of her shirt. “I never do.”

  “It’s just something ordinary,” Rainey recalls.

  “True. But even the ordinary can be complicated and may be distorted when viewed through the eyes of a child.” Kara smiles gently, reminding us all of the decisions she made about Jennings’s and her first son, Kevin. “If he wanted, needed, to leave his first name ‘John’ in the past to become the man I love, the man who will be by my side until the sky falls, who am I to question that?”

  Jed’s voice whispers in my ear. Do you forgive me yet, Maris? You read what I wrote. If I thought they were in any danger, you know I would have…

  Suddenly Rainey bursts out with, “Maris, did your parents ever debate naming you and Jed something else? Your names are so unique.”

  Kara snickers. “After the grandparents on her mother’s side.”

  “Really? What are they?” Rainey asks.

  “They’re perfectly lovely names.” I say solemnly.

  “What were they?”

  “John and Jane.”

  One second, two, then Meadow yells, “You mean if your parents didn’t choose differently you, your brother and you would have been the real life Mr. and Mrs. Smith?”

  By this point, I’m can’t control my laughter. Kara’s in as bad a condition as I am. I can only manage a nod. “When that movie came out, Jed and I both bought copies for our parents for Christmas without the other knowing. Then, years later, we had a special movie poster made with us re
enacting the cover art—”

  “Which I have because I begged for it, so Dean stole it for me when he and Jed went back for a visit,” Kara butts in.

  “—that I can’t get back no matter what I do,” I conclude.

  “Tell you what. If you somehow make it here for this child’s birth, I will give it back to you,” Kara offers benevolently.

  “Done,” I agree without hesitation.

  Meadow is wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Kara, is it put away?”

  “Oh, hell no. I have it hanging in my home office. Want to see it?”

  “No!” I shriek as Rainey and Meadow’s simultaneous “Yeses” overrule.

  Kara slides from her chair, and we hear Jennings ask where she’s going. “To the office. I need to show the girls where I hung the Smiths.”

  Jennings cracks up.

  I begin to yell, “I’m coming for it, buddy! Don’t let her fool you! Make sure you know I’m going to be in that delivery room right there with you!”

  “Wait, what? Kara, come back here.” Jennings is still protesting as Kara moves through dimly lit hallways.

  Meadow smirks. “Nice house.”

  “Don’t you like it? The builder price gauged us on the crown molding. I told Jennings I want it put up as a push present.” Even as she flicks on the lights to her study, Kara winks to let Meadow know she’s joking. “Anyway, when I need a moment of peace and quiet to study when Jennings and Kevin are blowing things up, this is where I am. Meadow, thank Kody for me. It’s perfect.”

  Even though I’ve seen the room before, the warm oak bookcases that make up an entire wall are so quintessentially Kara. “He did a fabulous job. Okay. Tour’s over.”

  Maniacal laughter escapes Kara. “Are you seriously kidding me? Let me tell you, the opposite wall used to be blank.”

  “Oh, God,” I moan.

  Everyone laughs. I simply brace myself. Then Kara touches her screen to adjust her camera so we can see the display. And my heart? It flips along with the view.