by Liz Johnson
“So, Monday then?”
“That’ll be fine.”
“Same time?”
She swallowed the groan deep in her throat and nodded.
Just before she slipped into her car, Oliver said, “Oh, and Meg.”
“Yeah?”
He pointed to the spot behind his ear. “They take a few hours to kick in. Put it on the night before.”
Oliver laughed as he wrung his shirt out one more time and toed off his shoes at the side door. Mama Potts would swat him out of her kitchen with her broom if he left mud and water on her clean floor.
But as soon as he stepped inside, he knew she wasn’t there. The house was quiet. Mama Potts didn’t do silence. Not when she was cooking. Not even when she was going to sleep.
“I got so used to you boys making a racket that I can’t barely function without some of my own,” she’d told him once when he caught her belting out an Alan Doyle folk song to a shepherd’s pie.
There was no noise, no movement in the home. But neither was it empty.
“Levi?”
A soft grunt was the only response.
Figured. His brother was more shadow than man most days. He shared the house with Mama Potts, just the two of them since Oliver had moved into the apartment above the old garage. They were supposed to share meals, but Levi slipped in and out unnoticed most days. As the facilities manager at the high school, he worked odd shifts, whenever the students weren’t there. That meant mostly late nights and therefore late mornings.
They couldn’t have picked more opposite schedules if they’d tried. Then again, he’d never asked Levi if he’d planned the whole thing. His brother could have been avoiding him for years and just never bothered to say as much.
Levi had never been what anyone would consider chatty. His silence had become more noticeable since their dad left, and since Eli had gotten a better offer and followed their dad’s example. That suited Oliver just fine. He had no need to hash out the past or run through the painful memories.
Sure, Levi was the only one who really knew what it had been like back then. They’d packed up their belongings together—what fit in two black trash bags—after the eviction notice had been nailed to the door of the only home they’d known. They’d walked down the street side by side, praying that no one from school would see them.
Well, Oliver had been praying that. Levi hadn’t said a word about it since.
As Oliver stepped into the kitchen, Levi looked up from where he sat at the table. The book in his hands was thicker than a door and sported a white library sticker on the cover.
Levi’s dark brown eyebrows pinched together, but a quick nod was all he offered by way of a question.
Oliver shrugged. “Had a little mishap on the boat.”
“It sink?”
Oliver snorted. “Not quite. Meg Whitaker was there.”
The corner of Levi’s lip curled, just enough to hint at a joke that only he found funny. “She push you in?”
With another shrug, Oliver nodded.
His brother’s whole face lit up, blue eyes flashing with barely contained mirth. Looking at his brother wasn’t quite like looking in a mirror, but the similarities were there. Especially when they smiled. Dimples on full display, black hair hanging low over their brows.
Levi closed his book and stared. Oliver didn’t continue, so Levi gave him a verbal nudge. “So . . .”
When Levi actually showed some interest in something, Oliver knew it might be their last chance to connect for months. And what were little brothers good for but for harassing older brothers?
Shoving his fingers through his hair and pushing it out of his face, Oliver sighed and fell into one of the wooden chairs. “She got a little seasick.”
Levi’s face reacted immediately.
“No.” He waved his hand to clear Levi’s concern. “She didn’t actually get sick, but she looked pretty close. I thought I was comforting her, but man, the minute I touched her . . .”
Another raise of Levi’s eyebrows and his wide gaze enunciated every syllable of his question. You touched her?
“Not like that. Get your mind . . . it wasn’t . . . she’s Meg Whitaker.” He needed to remind himself of that. He’d just been trying to make sure she didn’t puke in her hair. He hadn’t expected it to be so soft or to have the urge to slide it between his fingers.
Maybe all girls had hair that soft, but he doubted it. He just didn’t have much experience in that area. He hadn’t stopped working in more than ten years. There hadn’t been time for girls. Or even a girl. There had been time for keeping a roof over their heads. Then a few years ago, when his mom opened her shop, there had been time to dream of a boat of his own, of a license and business that no one could take away from him.
There wouldn’t be time to think about a home—and someone to share it with—until that boat was his. Even when he did think about it, it sure wasn’t going to be with Meg.
“I guess I deserved it. I called her Meggy. More than once.”
Levi leaned back and crossed his arms, a smug smile falling into place.
“But she thought I was drowning, so she jumped in to save me. So I’m not the only one covered in ocean water today.”
Levi kicked his shin under the table.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
Oliver rubbed his leg. “What? It was just a little bit of fun. She laughed. Sort of.”
Levi frowned. “You want the boat?”
“You know I do.”
“Well . . .”
“Well, what?” Oliver growled.
“I think your brother is trying to tell you that if you want to earn the boat—and Meg’s approval—you can’t treat her like she’s one of your brothers. And also that you smell like fish.”
Oliver jumped to his feet as Violet Donaghy arrived like she owned the place. His mother would throw him back in the ocean if he didn’t take the enormous box in Violet’s arms, so he reached out for it.
She elbowed past him, setting the box on the table. “Just a few things for the store for your mom. I tried a new design.” Her smile danced in her eyes.
Oliver reached to open the lid, but she swatted his hand away. “Not until Mama Potts gets here. And you take a shower.”
“I don’t smell bad.” He hooked the collar of his shirt over his nose, took a deep whiff, and promptly gagged.
“You were saying?” She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.
If he hadn’t known her back in school, he’d never have believed she was a year younger than he was. Maybe it was all the time she spent with his mom. Mama Potts had a habit of rubbing off on people, and she’d been rubbing off on Violet for a lot of years, teaching her how to throw pots and craft mugs out of the island’s legendary red clay. They’d opened their store almost three years before, selling their pottery and even teaching classes for tourists and locals alike.
“What did you do to Meg anyway?”
“You sure came in sounding like you knew what was going on. Were you eavesdropping?”
Her lifted shoulder said a little. “Here’s what I know. It’s hard to like someone who tricks you. And you need Meg to like you.”
Levi shot him an I-told-you-so stare.
Yeah. This was not news. But it didn’t make it any easier to know how to get her to like him. He’d apologized to mixed reviews. He’d driven her to the hospital when her mom was ill and finished up the inventory on his own. That had not gone over well. So he’d tried teasing her like he would have a sister. Still no go.
“And how exactly do you suggest I make that happen? She’s not going to forget that I’m the one who ruined her robot.”
“Be someone else,” Levi quipped.
Oliver would have returned the shin kick if he’d still been sitting. He settled for a glare across the table, which Levi took without blinking.
“Whatever you’re doing, do the opposite.”
&n
bsp; “Also very helpful. Thank you, Violet.” He crossed his arms, which just gave him another whiff of his own scent. At least Meg smelled the same.
When he thought about all of her gorgeous hair soaking wet with salt water, his gut clenched. He’d been . . . well, he hadn’t been thinking.
Violet sidled up next to him as close as she dared, given his state. She barely reached his shoulder, but that had never stopped her from being the biggest personality in the room. “I know you don’t like to admit it, but you’re actually a decent guy.”
“Debatable,” he said.
“Today’s escapades aside, you’re a good guy, Oliver. You work harder than any man I know, and every man in town would hire you in a heartbeat.”
That was definitely an exaggeration. He could name at least one lobsterman who would rather beat him with a stick than let him within three meters of his boat. But he managed a smile and kept his tone light. “Doubtful. Joe ran me off his property a couple years ago when I offered to mow his lawn.”
She swatted his arm. “Joe Herman is eighty-five years old and wouldn’t take a nickel he found on the ground. He’s too proud to accept help. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust you to do a good job, whatever job you do. Why do you think Walt asked you to buy his business?”
Oliver bit back a glib reply. Whitaker had asked him to buy his business. Sure, Oliver hadn’t made it a secret that he wanted to own a license one day—he’d been saving for the chance to purchase one. But he’d never asked Whitaker to sell the business to him. And as far as he knew, Whitaker hadn’t approached any other buyers.
Violet patted his shoulder, keeping her face and body at a safe distance. “You’re a good man, and that’s what Walt sees. But that’s not enough to win over Meg. You’re going to have to do better.”
“Better?” He sounded like a parrot. Felt about as smart as one too. He couldn’t do better than he already was—except for maybe not making her jump into the water after him.
“Meg’s going to see what her dad sees in you soon enough. But that’s not going to be enough to make her back off. You’ve got to make her genuinely like you. You’ve got to be her friend.” Violet’s voice turned mocking. “You remember what you learned in kindergarten about sharing and being kind and not pulling girls’ ponytails?”
Oliver grabbed her around the neck and pressed her nose into his smelly shirt. That’s what she got for being too smart for her own good.
“Forget Meg.” Levi chuckled. “Violet’s rich.”
Her face turned redder than steamed lobster, and Oliver let her go as she tried to wipe off his residue while making a face at Levi.
But Violet did make a good point. He didn’t just have to prove to Meg that he was capable. He had to be her friend.
seven
If she hadn’t known that Oliver was standing right behind her, Meg might have enjoyed the deep baritone singing “Great Is Thy Faithfulness.” She might even have glanced over her shoulder to see who was there. But she’d seen him as she walked into the white chapel. He’d seen her too. Even when she looked away, she’d felt his gaze follow her between the pews and right to her family’s usual spot.
Only there was no family with her today. Her dad had stayed home with her mom.
Mama Potts reached out to squeeze her arm. “Would you like to sit with us, sweetie?” she asked.
A kind gesture. And Violet’s smile was more than welcoming. Levi didn’t seem to know what to make of it all. But Oliver’s frown was more than enough to make her pass.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
But she hadn’t heard much of what Pastor Dell had said, wondering what people were thinking. Perhaps she imagined the whispers and nudges and questioning looks. Where was Sandra? Where had she been these last few months? And now Walt was missing too.
As the service wrapped up, she knew she’d have to face them. Every biddy poking for news on her mom. Every experienced lobsterman wondering what her dad planned to do for the season and if the rumors of his unusual plan were true.
She wanted the closing hymn to go on forever. At least then she wouldn’t have to face them down, answer their questions. And as long as Oliver was singing, he couldn’t answer them either.
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!
As the closing chord on the piano drifted away and Pastor Dell said a blessing over them, Meg hung her head, took a deep breath, and prayed that God’s faithfulness covered getting away unnoticed.
She didn’t even make it into the aisle before Jeffrey Druthers and Derrick Stewart stopped her. They were an odd pair, Jeffrey so tall he had to duck to get in the church door, Derrick several inches shorter than she was.
“Where’s your dad?”
Meg swallowed a retort that it was none of their business and tried for a smile. Before she could respond, Derrick chimed in. “We heard he was selling his license.” Hitching a thumb over his shoulder, he added, “To the middle Ross boy, no less.”
“Eh, b’y.” Jeffrey had grown up in Newfoundland, and its idioms sometimes still popped out. “There’s no way he’d do that.”
And there was no way that Oliver hadn’t heard the exchange. Meg couldn’t bring herself to look for him though. Her gaze locked on the wooden planks of the floor right in front of Jeffrey’s scuffed brown shoes, and she clutched her purse in both hands before her. Some barrier was better than none.
“Well . . .” She took a deep breath and tried to conjure some form of the truth that wouldn’t make her dad look like a fool and her mother sound worse than she was—even if no one knew just how sick that was. “Um . . .”
A hand suddenly slid through her arm, and a sweet voice announced, “Will you gentlemen please excuse us? I need to have a private conversation with Meg.”
The men grumbled but nodded as Violet swept her down the aisle. Meg hardly felt her feet touch the ground, so propelling was Violet’s force. And they’d only been introduced once or twice.
As soon as they reached the green expanse of lawn, Meg turned to her. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Violet looked like she belonged in lace gloves, cooling herself with a Victorian fan, as she smiled reassuringly. Her chic blue dress didn’t hold a single wrinkle, and every strand of her rich chestnut hair was perfectly in place, swept up in the back. Freckles didn’t dare to mar her porcelain cheeks and regal nose. As princesses went, Violet might have been the closest thing Victoria by the Sea had ever seen.
But fairy tales always had sad beginnings. Violet’s was no different. The rumor was that her parents, wealthy real-estate investors in Charlottetown, had died, leaving her a large fortune and no family. Even her smile was condescendingly regal as she led the way toward a large oak on the far side of the grass.
“I heard you might need a hand.”
“From . . .” Meg didn’t need to finish her question as Oliver stepped from behind the tree. “Oh.” So he’d thought she needed to be rescued. She hadn’t. She would have figured it out.
“I’m sorry about that.” He nodded toward the church door, where a small group of grizzled men had congregated, talking about setting day and the season to come.
“It’s not your fault, I guess.”
“Some people just can’t keep their tongues to themselves,” Violet said.
Oliver’s eyebrows jumped, and Violet swatted at him.
“Oh, don’t go there, Oliver Ross.”
Meg watched the exchange with a half smile and a strange knot in her stomach. She’d never seen Oliver and Violet together like this, like siblings, like friends. Quite honestly, she’d never thought about Oliver having friends. But one thing was clear. He had asked Violet to rescue her, and Violet had agreed. Meg was pretty sure it wasn’t for her sake.
Violet turned away from him. “I’m going to st
and right over here and make sure you aren’t accosted. All right?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome.” She strolled over to Levi, who was reading a book about three meters away, and chatted at him. He never looked up.
“How’s your mom?” Oliver’s simple question made her head swing back in his direction.
“I don’t know. But the doctor at Queen Elizabeth was able to get her an appointment with a specialist this week. And Dad—”
“Doesn’t want to leave her alone. I get it.”
She nodded.
“You could have sat with us, you know.”
Another nod was all she could muster. How could she explain that the whispers and the stares were easier to take when it was mostly just about her and her family? If they started involving Oliver, she wouldn’t have a clue how to respond.
“It took me two washes to get my hair clean yesterday.”
His smile was soft but didn’t mask the humor in his eyes. “What did you tell Druthers and Stewart about our deal with your dad?”
She glanced over at where they had been, but the group had dispersed. “Nothing.” She looked back at him. “But they know Dad was going to sell to you.” As soon as she said the words, she saw regret flash across his face, and it made her lungs tight.
“And they know you’re involved.”
“I don’t think so. How could they?”
Oliver dug his toe into the grass. “Little Tommy saw you on the boat yesterday. If he hasn’t talked yet, he will.”
“Well, it’s my dad’s boat. Why shouldn’t I be on it?”
“Because you never have been before.”
Well, that made sense. Rats.
Meg shoved her hands into the pockets of her sundress, and Oliver’s gaze dragged over her like he’d only just realized who she was. Ignoring his survey, she asked the question at the heart of the day. “You think there might be a problem?”
Officially they were fishing with a valid license for an approved company. Unofficially there was a code of conduct among fishermen, a gentlemen’s agreement of sorts. It ranged from which spot belonged to which fisherman to which boat went out first on setting day. But always it was about integrity. If the collective agreed there had been a breach, she and Oliver would get a warning. If it happened again, they’d be punished. Whatever form that took was anyone’s guess.