Beyond the Tides

by Liz Johnson

  Telling yourself that doesn’t make it true.

  It didn’t make it not true either. She did care about her dad.

  But you’re afraid of losing your mom.

  Who wouldn’t be?

  This was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Oliver wasn’t right. He didn’t understand. He may have known all the pressure points that hurt from lobster fishing, but he couldn’t possibly know where this hurt.

  And it did. It ached deep in her chest, stealing her breath and making her heart forget how to pump.

  Her mom was home. Safe. Loved.

  And she was just going to get worse.

  Meg’s breath caught on a sob, and she leaned against the closed door, pressing her forehead to the cool wood. Maybe it could soothe the burning in her lungs or the fire at her temples. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Just as Pastor Dell had described—the sound of pain.

  “Meg, honey? Are you coming in?” Her dad’s call came from the other side of the door, and she rushed to respond before he opened it.

  “Yes. I’m on my way. Just . . . putting away some tools.” She glanced at the pegboard, each of her dad’s tools hanging in a penciled outline. Every one in place.

  If he knew it was a lie, he didn’t say. He only gave the door two quick taps before his footsteps shuffled away.

  “Come on, Meg. Get it together.” She wiped her hand down her face and sucked in three deep breaths. This was not the time for self-analysis. This was the time for service.

  Plastering a smile into place, she pushed her way into the house. It smelled stale, like it had been shut up for two weeks, and she wanted to kick herself for not stopping by to air it out and open a few windows.

  She rolled through the kitchen, left the suitcase by the hallway, and returned to stand in front of the sink. “What can I make you for supper?”

  Her dad looked up from where he was settling her mom on the sofa. He tucked a blanket around her legs and propped a blue throw pillow beneath each arm. “You don’t have to do that. You’ve been up since before the sun.”

  True. And she was not becoming a morning person. But that wasn’t an excuse. “I don’t mind.” She ducked her head into the refrigerator. Nearly empty except a bottle of ketchup, a lone apple, and an open box of baking soda.

  Right. They’d cleaned out the fridge because they were going to be gone. And—again—like an idiot, she hadn’t thought to pick up a few things in anticipation of their return.

  She tried the pantry, which was equally barren. “I’ll just run out and pick something up for you at Carrie’s. What would you like?”

  Her dad strolled toward the suitcase and picked it up. But he didn’t move down the hallway. “We’re fine.” Dropping the suitcase, he walked toward her and put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s just so nice to see you again. I missed you.”

  Forcing a breath around the lump in her throat, she hugged him back. “I missed you too.” Her words weren’t quite as steady as she’d have liked them to be. Maybe that was why he changed the topic.

  “How’s the boat and the catch?”

  “Fine. Good. We’ve brought in more than two hundred pounds of hard shell nearly every day.” And we’ve only had to replace one cluster of traps when someone cut our line.

  She couldn’t say that last part. She couldn’t let on that there had been hiccups. Or that in six nights on the Pinch, trading shifts sleeping, she and Oliver had seen nothing that pointed to the culprit.

  “And Oliver?”

  Every muscle in her body tensed. Was her dad reading her mind? Doubtful.

  Thank goodness. Especially when memories of resting her head on Oliver’s shoulder made her insides tingle in a way that could only mean one thing. One thing she was not going to name.

  “He’s fine. Good. Busy.”

  “You spending a lot of time together?” There was a note in his voice, a knowing flutter that she didn’t like, and she pulled back, staring hard into his face.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged, giving her shoulder one more squeeze before dropping his arms. “Nothing at all. Just hoping you haven’t gotten into an argument that sank the boat.”

  “Of course not. He’s good. I’m good. Kyle is good too.”

  “Glad to hear it.” With a wink, he took off down the hallway toward the bedroom. But something didn’t quite settle right in her stomach. He sounded like one of the gossips in front of the church on Sunday mornings, trying to drum up the latest scandal.

  She wasn’t a scandal. Neither was Oliver. But when their competition for the business became public knowledge, they would certainly be the talk of the town.

  Shoving that thought aside, she walked across the living room and sank into the seat beside her mom. “Hi.” She scooped up her hand and held it between her own. “I missed you.”

  Her mom squeezed her hand, and Meg jumped, clutching her weathered fingers even closer.

  “I love you,” Meg whispered.

  Her mom’s eyes didn’t quite focus, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Love you too.”

  Though Meg hadn’t known it, that was all she needed to hear. For that moment, anyway.

  They sat in silence. Together.

  Oliver couldn’t spend another night sleeping on the Pinch. Or—more accurately—not sleeping. Not that he minded the rocking motion or the fresh air or the company.

  The company was pretty great—even if she’d kept their conversation safely away from her mom since he’d pushed. Maybe too hard.

  He liked hearing about Meg’s time in college, her love for all things mechanical, and even how much she missed her students. If he felt a little bit guilty about her missing out on the school year with them, he tried not to. She’d made her own choice. And if he’d been in her position, he’d probably have done the same thing.

  Honestly, he was going to miss their nights under the stars.

  However, he wasn’t going to miss a foggy brain and lethargic body. He needed to sleep in his own bed for more than two hours at a time. He was young and resilient, but at the moment he felt like he was eighty-five and had lived hard every day of his life.

  After church on Sunday, the congregation rushed outside to stand on the lawn in small pockets in their usual way. The kids played beneath the trees, and the women stood in front of the white chapel and talked of the latest play at the local theater and the state of tourism. The men discussed the falling price of lobster and the season’s catch, as they always did.

  Oliver broke away and strolled toward the parking lot, steeling himself for a conversation he didn’t want to have. But it was the only one that might put an end to his sleepless nights.

  “Oliver, what are you doing?”

  His name on her tongue made him stop, and her hand on his arm made his stomach drop. He turned to face Meg.

  “You look like a man on a mission. Where are you going?”

  To get some sleep. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. “I need some answers.”

  Her eyebrows dipped with concern. She knew. It was as clear as the Confederation Bridge, written in those beautiful blue eyes. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Yes. But only if she could be there and not hear any of what was about to be said.

  He shook his head. “I’m good. I just can’t go on like we have been.”

  Her lips pinched, and he felt her volt of keen disappointment.

  “I just mean I need to get some sleep. Like real sleep in my own bed.”

  With a laugh, she pointed toward her eyes. “It takes a lot of makeup to cover these dark circles. Let me know if you ever want to borrow it.”

  He chuckled, lifting his eyes just as Jeffrey Druthers glanced his way. A subtle nod was all it took, and Druthers began to mosey in their direction.

  Meg glanced over her shoulder. “You think Druthers has something to do with it?”

  “I don’t know, but . . . I need to talk with him. Alone.”

 
“All right. Will I see you tonight?”

  He wanted to confirm so desperately. But he wanted to be passed out with his own pillow more.

  “I’ll call you.”

  She nodded and gave Druthers one more glance before stalking toward her sedan.

  Oliver stepped out of the way of a car pulling out of its spot. He crossed his arms and squinted at Druthers as he closed the gap.

  “Ross.” It wasn’t much of a greeting, but Oliver had had worse. “You looking for something?”

  “The truth.”

  “’Bout what?” Druthers was like flint, every stereotype of a crusty fisherman. His tousled gray hair and mustache would have been perfect on the box of those frozen fish sticks no one ever bought in the grocery store.

  “I assume you’re aware.”

  “I heard some things, like maybe you lost a cluster of traps.” Druthers grunted. “Can’t say I’m sorry.”

  There it was. The truth coming out. “Why’s that?”

  “Oh, you’re not stupid enough to have to ask that. You know what your old man did to me—to my business.”

  “And you figured this was your chance to take it out on me?”

  “Whoa.” Druthers’s face turned red, and he closed half the distance between them. Pointing a stern finger right at Oliver’s chest, he said, “Just what are you accusing me of, b’y?”

  It took everything inside him to keep his hands at his sides, but Oliver held his ground. “I’m asking you. Right now. Man-to-man. Do you know who sabotaged my traps?”

  “Doesn’t matter if I do or I don’t. I wouldn’t tell you either way.” Druthers’s lip curled in a sneer. “Besides, last I checked, those aren’t your traps and the Pinch isn’t your boat. And it’s never going to be.”

  Oliver nearly bit off his own tongue spitting out another question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Only that Whitaker has better taste than to sell his family’s name to a kid who’s no better than his no-good thief father. It’s in your blood. The lot of you boys. Eli’s a liar and a cheat. Levi’s slow—can’t hardly speak. And you’re every bit the swindler your dad was, sweet-talking Whitaker and his poor wife outta their business,” he nearly snarled. “I’ll make sure you never get his boat.”

  With that, Druthers stalked away.

  Oliver let out a tight sigh and flexed his fingers, trying to ignore the kernel of truth in the man’s words. His brothers weren’t perfect, but they sure weren’t what he’d called them. Levi wasn’t slow. And Eli hadn’t been a cheat either—last he’d seen him.

  But the truth was that Oliver was the kid of a no-good thief. As for whether Whitaker would end up selling to him? That remained to be seen.

  “He called you what?” Meg’s words rose in volume until they echoed all the way to the red-and-white lighthouse and back. She scrambled to get to her feet.

  Oliver laughed, holding on to her arm to keep her seated beside him on their stolen cushion. Back on the boat for another night. Pressing his finger to his lips, he reminded her that the cloak of darkness didn’t make them invisible. He kept his voice low. “I told you that you didn’t want to know what we talked about.”

  “Well, I didn’t think I’d have to teach an old man some proper manners. But I will. I’m not afraid of him. I’ve taught ninth-year students. Nothing can scare me after that.”

  He laughed again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tucking her into his side. “You can’t fight him tonight.”

  “But I would. I’d go knock some sense into him right this minute.” Every muscle in her trembled against him, so he pulled her closer. He threw a blanket over both of their outstretched legs.

  “I know you would. And I appreciate it.” He wasn’t sure if she would feel the same way if he told her the rest of Druthers’s accusations—about his brothers, about himself. Oliver had told her that Druthers had called him the son of a no-good thief. He had conveniently left out the part about being called a swindler. He knew it wasn’t true. Whitaker had approached him about buying the business. But he also didn’t want to plant a seed of doubt in Meg’s mind.

  And the part about his dad being terrible—that wasn’t news to anyone. Least of all Oliver and his brothers.

  “I mean, how could Druthers sit in church and listen to Pastor Dell preach about forgiveness and grace? We’re supposed to forgive much because we’ve been forgiven much, right? And then he goes and holds on to all this hate for so long. I mean, it’s been ten—aaaahhh!” She let out a breathy wail, pressing her face into her hands.

  “What’s wrong?” Shaking her shoulder, he tried to get her to look up at him, but she only buried her face deeper into her palms.

  “I just heard myself.” She groaned again. “Ten years. Ten years.”

  “Well, I did ruin your future.”

  She looked up then, the moon shining right into her face, highlighting every line of regret. “No, you didn’t. You might have changed it, but you didn’t ruin it. I should have never carried that grudge for so long.”

  “I think we decided that sometimes you weren’t really mad at me. Besides, you never insulted me.”

  She cringed.

  “At least not to my face,” he tacked on, unable to keep a grin from surfacing.

  “Yeah, but I was mad at you a lot. And I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize we could have been friends all this time.”

  He held out his hand. “Friends now?”

  Nudging him with her elbow, she said, “Don’t be so cheesy.” And then, like she didn’t want to let the moment pass, she slipped her hand into his as she added, “Yes, of course we’re friends.” She ducked her head, hiding the smile that played across her lips.

  Sweet, pink lips. Sweet, kissable lips. Not that he was thinking about that. Much.

  “So what are you going to say to Druthers?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  She shifted to face him, her knee pressing against his, unmoving and far too familiar. “What do you mean? How can you just let that go? All those things he said about your dad.”

  He nodded slowly, wishing for the millionth time that he was someone else’s son. But he couldn’t deny them. “They’re true.”

  She gasped like she didn’t know. And maybe she’d truly never known. How could she? With a mom and a dad who loved her so much, doted on her, and praised her, how could she even fathom a childhood like his?

  He tried for a soft laugh, but it came out dry and humorless. “Meg, it’s my dad.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what that means.”

  sixteen

  Oliver knew he had a choice, and everything inside of him wanted to choose the easy route—the one where he shrugged off what Druthers had said and pretended that Meg hadn’t just asked him for the truth.

  Those routes were easy for a reason, and he’d picked them most of his life. Anything to keep his dad from flying off the handle. Anything to keep his mom from hurting. Anything to keep from being reminded that Eli had chosen his skates and a sweet signing bonus over his own family.

  Then again, he’d taken a hard stand with Eli, and the memory of that night and the following days lived in his dreams far more often than he’d like.

  He wanted to laugh it off. But more than that, he wanted Meg to know, to really understand. Maybe then—well, she’d already told him she’d forgiven him. Still, maybe if she really knew what it had been like, she’d understand why he’d done such a terrible thing.

  Maybe he’d understand why he’d done such a terrible thing.

  Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, he bent one knee and rested his forearm on it. The blanket pooled in his lap, and he kept his eyes focused on the lines in the plaid, afraid of what he’d see in Meg’s face if he looked her way.

  “My dad wasn’t a good man.” The words came out on a croak. They were also the understatement of the century. “I guess you know that he was supposed to work for Druthers that season ten years ago.”

&nbs
p; Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod.

  “Only he didn’t. He took off without a word. And with a lot of Druthers’s stuff.”

  He expected her to pull away. She leaned in, her breath warm on his cold cheek. “What do you mean? What stuff?”

  “His hauler. His GPS. His trailer. His truck. Just about anything that wasn’t nailed down. I figure he sold it all.” Finally he risked a glance in her direction. Meg’s eyes were rounder than the moon and twice as bright. And filled with what could only be labeled compassion.

  “What happened to him? Was he arrested?”

  “Maybe. But not this side of the border. He made it down to New York, and that’s the last anyone I know has heard of him.”

  “He hasn’t contacted you since? At all? No birthday cards or Christmas presents? Nothing?”

  He did chuckle then. “He couldn’t be bothered with those things when we lived under the same roof. No way he’d remember when we were out of sight.”

  “Oh, Oliver.” Her hands slipped around his waist as she looked into his face. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not the worst part.”

  She let out a squeak as if to say it couldn’t get worse.

  “I was glad he left. I told him to go.”

  She didn’t say anything, and the silence was somehow an invitation—not to fill it exactly, but to share the secrets he’d been carrying for so long. It was easier to find words when he was only competing with the low groans of the boats rocking in the water.

  “My dad thought I was worthless.”

  She made a sound of protest, but a quick shake of his head silenced her.

  “He ignored me for most of my childhood. When I was about fourteen, he told me it was time I started carrying my weight. Get a job, bring in some money. Eli was skating day and night by then, and it was pretty clear he had a future on the ice. But I was rotten at school and rotten at life. He made sure I never forgot that he thought I was a drain on our family.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder, squeezing her arms around him. And—if he knew her at all—biting her lips to keep from interrupting him.

  “I thought it was just me. I thought he just hated me. He wasn’t really violent—a smack on the head sometimes. But he never punched me. Until I was seventeen.”