The only thing standing between that shiny front blade and the tree was James, so the crowd pressed forward to join him. The big machine began to move—but it was backing away from the tree, beeping a warning, along the same path it had flattened on the way in.
Parker almost collapsed with relief—even as he made a mental note to cancel Owen’s last paycheck.
“Excitement’s all over, folks,” James called out. “The trees are safe.”
A cheer went up, and Parker watched people hug their neighbors. Mavis was smiling right at him—an orchid’s bloom—until her eyes jumped left. Her mother was shuffling up the dividing path at last, escorted by a hefty black woman with a thick strand of purple hair. Mavis went to meet them and tucked her arm through her mother’s, gently rotating her to walk back to the schoolroom.
“Mavis,” James called over the crowd. He spread out his arms and cocked his head to the side, as if asking her a question. After a moment, she nodded in agreement.
“Okay folks, we’re gonna continue Joe’s service right here,” James announced. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep it short and sweet—just what he would’ve wanted.”
A buzz of surprise ran through the crowd. “Really, out here?” “I can’t stand up that long.” “How strange.” Meanwhile Courtney calmly walked forward, picked James’s blazer off a nearby bush, and held it up so he could slide his arms into the correct sleeves. By the time he’d turned around to thank her, she was walking back to Billy and Patty. So she missed the look of gratitude and—devotion. Like she was the only one who mattered.
Was James in love with Courtney then, rather than Anna? So confusing. Maybe they should call this place Copulation Island. He swallowed a laugh.
The crowd was already quieting; time to leave them all to their memories. Parker turned, stumbled, and apologized to the woman— Mack’s wife, carrying a squirming toddler—whose foot he’d stepped on. He’d almost reached the last row of mourners, where Mavis stood arm in arm with her mother, when James called his name. “Hey Parker, why don’t you stick around? I think Joe would be honored.”
Mavis was smiling at him too, so he took the place right beside her. Birds chirped and oak leaves rustled, accompanied by the island’s bass drum of waves pounding on a distant rocky shore. This was such a perfect place to honor the man who’d defended this island’s natural beauty, email after email; it was almost possible to think they’d all gathered out here intentionally.
James reached into his jacket pocket—but when his hand came out again, it was empty.
“I prepared a speech last night, but you all know I’m not much good with those. So instead I’ll try to explain what these trees mean— meant—to Joe.” He obviously didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he stuffed them into the pockets of his dress pants.
“Years ago, that old path most of you took to get here was cleared as a boundary between natives and whites. There was no violence, but plenty of suspicion—on both sides.”
The crowd was silent. Even Mack’s toddler had stopped squirming and stuck his thumb in his mouth.
Parker shifted right, close enough to feel the warmth of Mavis— though not quite touching her bare forearm with his own.
“Joe and I were born a week apart,” James continued. “His father decided that was reason enough to finally make peace with the whites. There was no mayor in those days, so Sachem Tony walked up to the lighthouse and shook hands with my father—the white man’s Sachem, he called him. A few days later, someone suggested they mark the occasion by planting two trees—one either side of the—”
“My father,” Anna Crosby interrupted. “It was his idea.”
Mavis cocked her elbow out until it touched Parker’s. His stomach flipped. Accident, or intentional? Tentatively, he pressed back; she didn’t pull away.
James continued as if Anna hadn’t spoken. “Most people assume that this tree was planted by my father, since it’s on the east side of the path. But this oak was actually planted by the man I called Uncle Tony—”
On the opposite side of Mavis, her mother let out a low moan— and Mavis’s elbow retreated.
“My father planted the Douglas fir, over on the west side of the path.” James pointed over their heads. Parker took the opportunity to glance at Mavis—she was smiling, right at him! He smiled back, heart singing.
“The idea was that we should all cross this path—that we should be one family here on Brenton. Cooperation Island, as the Irreverend was just reminding us.”
A warm forearm pressed into Parker’s; this time, Mavis arched her hand back too, until they were skin to skin from elbow to fingertips. He didn’t move.
“Dad and Sachem Tony didn’t worry about who was white and who was Narragansett,” James was saying. “What they worried about was off-islanders taking over. Joe took on that battle after they passed, though he was very discreet. I only found out a few weeks ago that he’d been a thorn in the side of anyone trying to develop West Brenton. Right Parker?”
Parker nodded, feeling his face flush as eyes swiveled toward him once again. Mavis pulled away, leaving his skin tingling with abandonment.
“If Joe was still here with us,” James said, “we wouldn’t have needed a sit-in. No one would’ve dared to go after this land, as long as he stood in the way.”
Parker stretched his fingers back as far as they would go, aching to renew contact—but he found only air. Keep talking, James.
“So today, I pledge to carry on Joe’s struggle to protect our island. I can’t outrun a tractor, but I will do my best to stand up for what I believe in, just like the man who was once as strong as this oak tree.”
A pinky finger intertwined with his own, shooting a zinger of joy through him. What nerve she had; flirting, at her brother’s funeral!
“If Joe were still with us,” James was saying, “he’d be very proud of the three brave islanders who saved his tree today. Thank you, Billy Dean. Thank you, Mavis Borba.” James nodded to each of them, before focusing on the other ferry captain. “And Courtney Farris— you are now an honorary citizen of Cooperation Island.” The back of Courtney’s neck flushed beet red.
James tore his gaze away to seek out Mavis—but that strong finger stayed linked with Parker’s.
“And unless anyone else wants to say a few. . .”
“James?” The purple-haired woman raised a handful of sparkly fingernails. “If I may. . .”
They all swiveled to face her, which forced Mavis to let go of Parker’s pinky but put her right in front of him. He leaned in, closing his eyes, to inhale her distinctive pine-bay scent. The crowd was growing restless, but all he could feel was gratitude to the large woman for extending his time beside Mavis.
“I’m Sheila Rhodes, Joe’s law partner. . .”
The ferry’s horn tooted, shorter than usual. Courtney frowned at Billy in question; he just shrugged.
“. . .how important Joe Borba was, even on the mainland,” Sheila was saying. “Even in the few short years he had between law school and cancer, he gained respect around Boston as a lawyer who played fair—and believe you me, that’s not the first assumption people make about us.” Laughter. “He saved people’s homes, made a few corporations behave. But in his mind, the one reason he was put on this earth was to keep this island open to all.
“He’s gone now, and them’s big shoes to fill. Luckily, he has friends.” She smiled over at James and inhaled again, as if she had something more to say, but all she choked out was, “God speed, Joe— we’ll miss you,” before dropping her head to her hands. The lawyer next to her patted her shoulder.
“Thanks Sheila.” James was trying to catch Mavis’s eye, but she had wrapped her arms around her mother; even though he was no longer touching her, Parker could feel her whole body shaking with tears. James’s lips pressed together, and he looked right, reaching a hand out to the tree.
Everyone else had run out of words, so Hunter Moody stepped forward. “I think we’ll leave it there.
”
There was a collective murmur, and some people turned to shake their neighbor’s hand—as if they were in church. Parker forced himself to step back, away from Mavis; he was pivoting to leave when James spoke again.
“Sorry—I forgot the most important thing!” James raised his voice to carry over the bustling crowd. “Joe would like us all to have a drink at the Inn, on him.”
A cheer went up, and everyone turned to head for the bar. James cocked his head and looked right at Parker, clearly saying: Sorry to spring this on you.
Locals at the bar, at last! He pulled out his phone to text Sylvia the good news. But—would Sachem Joe’s estate be able to cover the cost? Screw it—he’d pick up the tab himself if necessary. After today, the guy was practically family.
Courtney
HONORARY CITIZEN OF Cooperation Island! What the hell did that even mean?
Courtney followed the stream of people up the hill toward the Inn, barely noticing the broken brambles on either side of her. James wasn’t the mayor—and he was leaving soon. What nerve he had! Was he trying to convince her to stay and do his dirty work, just so he could run off on that damned sailboat to that gorgeous blonde in the Caribbean?
A woman’s chuckle just ahead brought her back to the present: Barb, walking with the art gallery owner. Most of her hair had fallen out of its bun and angled toward his shoulder, just like—
Just like that girl’s braid had angled toward Lizzie the lawyer’s shoulder, down on the beach.
At dawn this morning, Barb had opened her blue door and invited Courtney in for another cuppa. The shades were up in the kitchen, letting in the sunrise—though, sadly, there were no fresh scones to test.
“I wanted to apologize for talking your ear off about James a few weeks ago,” the baker told her, smiling across the rim of a heavily glazed mug. “I spend a lot of time alone these days, so I tend to talk too much whenever I do get a chance.”
“That’s okay,” Courtney replied, burning her tongue on the coffee. “It’s helpful to understand him, since I’ve been. . . working with him.”
“He must hate you,” Barb said.
“Oh no!” Courtney said, blushing. “He did at first. . . then I think he kinda forgot I was female.”
“I doubt that!” Barb seemed much more animated—maybe it was her second cup of coffee. “He’s a total throwback, thinks of women as, you know. . . mothers, cooks, cleaners. Even though there was way more to his mom than that.” She rolled her eyes. “Malloy men were raised to be the perfect lighthouse keepers; strong and aloof, no room for friends or feelings or—heaven forbid—expressing those feelings. I once dragged out of James that his father died of a broken heart after he was forced to retire. So when he lost the ferry job, I figured he needed a talking-to.” She gazed out the front window, staring at the house right across the road. “Of course, instead of dealing with his problems, he just ran off to—”
“Are you quite sure about him and Anna?”
Barb’s head turned so fast, it freed several wisps of hair from her hand-twisted bun. “You’re sweet on him too? Jesus, that guy has all the island women chasing after him! Except me—the one who knows him best.” Her eyebrow cocked up into a V. “I’ve got a better option.”
Maybe the gallery owner was Barb’s “better option,” Courtney thought now, studying the way their strides matched, two hands not quite touching. He was a married man. . . but his wife was having her own summer fling. Courtney shook her head, tired of trying to puzzle out all the interwoven relationships on this tiny island. Maybe it was time to go home, where she knew everyone so well that there were fewer surprises.
Shortly after brambly undergrowth ended and smooth lawn began, Barb and Gavin veered left and disappeared around the back side of the Inn. Either they weren’t drinkers, Courtney thought, following the crowd up to the small door that led into the bar, or they didn’t want to be seen in public together.
Courtney didn’t particularly want to be seen drinking in the middle of the day, but after all that sprinting and emotion, only a beer would satisfy. Just one; there was still the afternoon ferry run.
The small door had been wedged open with a garden rock. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim coolness inside, but a rumble of voices told her it was far busier than a typical Friday night. All eight seats at the bar were taken, and the room was already full of chattering people, drinks in hand.
No James. As she’d left the forest, he and Mavis and a bent old Native American lady had encircled the big tree, holding hands. Surely he’d come up here, once they finished paying private respects; what would she say to him? Too many unanswered questions.
Sylvia the bartender was standing still for once, arms crossed over her cleavage, listening to the large man who’d blocked the schoolroom door. When she finally shook her head and turned away to pull two beers, she didn’t seem any grumpier than usual. Courtney tried to step into the opening to order, but Parker beat her to it.
“S-scuse me, Courtney.” He leaned across the bar to talk to Sylvia. “See my t-text? Drinks on Sachem Joe, for anyone at his s-service.”
A free beer! Even better.
“His brother just told me he was broke,” Sylvia said.
“Let me w-worry about—”
“Summer ale, Courtney?” Sylvia’s left hand pulled down the tap. Courtney raised her foaming beer in thanks, but the bartender was already filling glasses for the pair of suits who’d bellied up behind her. Two glasses clinked together: “To Joe.”
One of the lawyers tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, aren’t you the ferry captain? What time is the last run today?”
Courtney glanced at her watch. “It was supposed to go twenty-five minutes ago. . . but today, we’ll leave when you’re all ready to go.” After Lloyd’s foolish attempt to bulldoze an oak tree, he could go fly a kite as far as she was concerned.
Mack stood next to his wife in the middle of the room, a half-full beer in one hand and toddler pulling hard on the other. Hunter waved from his usual spot at the bar before returning to his conversation with Anna Crosby and her nerdy nephew. Who was probably too young to be sitting there, but that wasn’t Courtney’s problem.
Locals and visitors alike were ducking through the low door, single file. Doctor Emerald and his wife; two Native American couples. Then a string of lawyers, suit jackets slung by fingers over right shoulders as if someone had choreographed them all, herded to the bar by a large woman in a very loud dress.
Her phone rang: Billy. She walked over to the fireplace for a little privacy. “Hey, you’re missing free—”
“Boss Lloyd tried to steal the Homer!” Billy said. “I was taking Patty and DJ back to the house when I noticed the bow line was untied. I guess he couldn’t get the engines started, so he’s taking the harbormaster boat. Owen’s with him, and—”
“Be right there.” Courtney hung up, set her beer on the mantle, and strode over to Mack. His toddler was now wrapped around one leg, pulling sideways. “Lloyd’s stealing your boat,” Courtney told him. “What do—”
“So that’s why the Homer’s horn sounded!” Mack handed his beer to his wife, shook off his son—who instantly started to wail—and called across the room, “Hunter, borrow your keys—and your golf cart?” A floating key ring flew overhead; Mack caught it neat as a sac fly. “Let’s go.” Without waiting to see if Courtney was following, the harbormaster strode out through the French doors.
Lloyd
NEITHER OF THE Homer’s engines would start. And when Lloyd stepped back out through the side door, he hit his head—yowza, the exact same spot he’d nailed on that damned tractor roof! It would soon start bleeding again, but he couldn’t worry about that now— and this shirt was already ruined.
Glancing aft, he spotted his escape.
“We’ll take the harbormaster boat,” he told Owen, leading the way back up the gangway onto the dock, wondering if he could leave the landscaper behind. The kid was completely u
seless; he hadn’t even managed to touch that damned tree with the tractor before he backed up, beeping and bawling, scared off by a bunch of crazy tree-huggers. By the time they ditched the tractor in its barn and ran for the ferry landing, Owen had the hiccups.
This boat would be easy to start; get in and turn the key, just like a car. But it was too far down to jump without breaking an ankle, so Lloyd sat on the edge of the dock and reached pointed toes down to the side deck.
“No, stay on the dock!” he yelled.
Instead, Owen jumped down onto the forward deck. Now Lloyd would have to lose him somewhere between here and Newport.
Knowing this island, the keys were probably—yup, right in the console. The engine started up, though it was much louder than expected.
“Um, I think you need to. . .” Owen waved aft, still hiccuping. Lloyd turned to find the engine angled up, prop visible above the surface. That’s right, he had to put it down into the water; a button on the side of the throttle did just that, which made the thing a whole lot quieter and gave his throbbing head a little relief. He could feel blood pooling in his hair, again.
“You’re bleeding,” Owen said. No shit.
“Cast off.” Owen gave him a blank stare. “Undo the lines. From the dock, not the boat!” Oh well, there’d be lines on the dock in Newport. Or maybe they’d just let it—
“Boss Lloyd, wait!”
Billy the deckhand was running onto the dock, waving.
“Get this thing untied!” Lloyd yelled.
Owen had already cast off the bow line, so he looked confused again until Lloyd pointed to the stern. Just as Billy reached the edge of the dock, Lloyd hit the throttles, knocking Owen to his knees. What a liability—should’ve left him to take the heat from his real boss, Pa-pa-pa-parker.
Speeding away, Lloyd turned to give Billy a middle-fingered wave—and saw him holding phone to ear. That’s right, call in the island cavalry—he’d taken their fastest boat! Already halfway to the breakwater, and only a narrow V of wake. Fifteen minutes to Newport—or less. Maybe instead of the helicopter pad, he’d start a small, exclusive, high-speed ferry service. . .
Ferry to Cooperation Island Page 26