Joe had seen James so clearly, while James had been too caught up in his own piddly little dramas to dig beneath the surface.
“To be honest, the money was a surprise to me too,” Lizzie admitted. “Joe was really smart about the market; he said he had a bad feeling a few months before the financial crisis, so he converted everything to cash—including his Boston condo. After he moved back here, he day-traded. When he first asked for my help back in February, he’d just made what he called a ‘big killing.’ He made another one in late April, which financed his ferry plan.”
Lizzie realigned the left pile of folders. “Now, are there any other—”
“Can we see an actual copy of the will?” Pierce asked. “I’d like to understand the details, rather than just take it on faith that my brother had it all figured out.”
Again, Lizzie reached down into her leather bag and passed out three manila envelopes. “I’ve highlighted the sections pertinent to each of you. And of course I’ll be available if anything needs clarifying.” She pushed back from the table.
Mavis had closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her body, rocking back and forth. Pierce was staring at his sister, one leg bobbing up and down like a piston.
James stood up too. “I’ll see you out, Lizzie.”
The two untouched stacks of paper got tossed back into their box—decoys, apparently—before Lizzie slung the leather bag over her shoulder, grabbed the cardboard handles, and headed for the door. Before she pushed it open, she nodded back at Mavis. “Take care of her, will you?”
“Of course.”
Back at the table, Pierce was leaning over Mavis, talking low and fast. James grabbed the nearest elbow.
“Mavis needs time to absorb all this, Pierce. We all do.”
Just like the schoolroom last Saturday; as soon as he was challenged, Pierce’s resistance melted away. James steered him toward the door. The other man was gripping his envelope so tight that Pierce Borba, written in looping script, wrinkled into itself.
“I wish—” Pierce stopped just outside the door. “I wish I’d made up with him, somehow. But he was such a stubborn SOB— sorry, that’s probably not what I’m supposed to say, but it’s true. And our lives were so—what we considered success was so different.”
“Really? You both wanted to help people. Just found different ways of doing it.” James rubbed at his tired eyes. “Maybe this is Joe’s way of making up with you.”
“Keeping me quiet, more like.” Pierce sighed. “I’m sure he’s sewn it all up tighter than a drum. Lawyers know how to do that.”
The face was so familiar; take Joe, add fifty pounds of barbecue, and you got Pierce. At least on the outside.
But Joe would never have walked away from anyone without a handshake.
“Don’t forget to send details about that tribal remembrance you told me about,” James called after Pierce. There was no response.
Inside, Mavis hadn’t moved.
“Need anything?” He dropped a hand to her shoulder.
She shook her head. “Need Joe,” she said at last. “To figure out. Joe.”
“He surprised us all—again.” He swiveled Lizzie’s chair around and sat down facing Mavis, resting his arms on the oak backrest. Now that all those papers were gone, he remembered this table; Uncle Tony had built a chess board right into the surface, to teach his sons the game.
James pressed his finger into a white square. “We’ll be working together quite a bit, you and me.”
Mavis nodded. “I’ll need your help.”
“And I yours.”
Her forehead wrinkled in question.
“I need to learn how to be kinder.” Treat people more like boats.
Outside the window, an outboard motor fired up. Without turning to look, James tracked Pierce’s progress by the RPMs: backing away from the dock, motoring out of the harbor, whining away toward the mainland.
“Joe had too much faith in us,” James muttered. “Did he even ask if you wanted to run the land trust?”
“Or you, the ferry.”
“I asked first—do you want to? I’m sure we could—”
“Absolutely yes please definitely absolutely,” she replied, nodding her head up and down. “Lotta words, for me.”
He laughed along with her, hoping she wouldn’t ask again about the ferry. He had a big decision to make, and right now it seemed like Joe’s money was only going to make it harder.
Parker
WHEN MAVIS APPEARED in his office to pick up her final paycheck, Parker ushered her back out through the doorway and down the hall to the elevator. She hesitated, but stepped inside. On the second floor, when he unhooked the “private” rope and waved her up the stairs to the widow’s walk, she hesitated again.
“T-trust me?”
Despite his stutter, Mavis climbed the stairs, wrenched open the wooden door herself, and walked right over to the south railing, ignoring the wind-beaten yellow caution tape. Gripping the painted cap rail, eyes closed, she looked as comfortable as if they came up here together every afternoon. She wore her hair down for once, and Parker had to stop himself from pushing the blowing strands away from her face.
Thirty-two, maybe thirty-three? She was younger than her wisdom, older than her unlined face. He wanted to learn her exact age—not because it mattered, but because it was something a husband should—
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
“Isn’t it beautiful up here?” he said. He stood close enough to inhale her scent—that mix of bay leaf and fresh pine, intoxicating as a clothesline-dried pillowcase.
She captured most of that thick hair and held it behind her, nodding, but her chocolaty eyes were closed. Her left hand dropped back to the railing.
“You’re not even looking.”
“Smells beautiful.”
You do.
When he dropped his right hand onto the railing, their pinky fingers touched—and then locked together, the way they had at the end of Joe’s service. His heart was racing. When someone waved up at them from the road, Parker waved back awkwardly, with his left hand.
“I’m so excited about the land trust,” Parker said. “You’ll do a great job, and it’s something the island really needs.”
“You’re not mad?”
He laughed. “Mad? No way. I’ll admit, I used to think we needed to build a mini-Newport out here. But that place is such a zoo. You should’ve seen the crowds there yesterday—”
He hadn’t meant to mention his shopping trip so soon.
She moved an inch to the right, unhooked her finger, and placed both hands on the railing.
His heart dropped. “Mavis, I—”
“Very different,” she murmured.
“Yes I know we’re d-different, but—” His stutter was back, dammit.
“Might work. We should try.” She was smiling—not out at the water, but up at him.
He grinned back, heart soaring. And then before he could lose his nerve, he knelt down—but had to stand up again, to extract the small box from the pocket of his khakis. Her eyes were bright, but she stood absolutely still; the only movement was the hair swirling around her face.
“Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he asked her. “When you’re not around, it’s like the sun went behind a cloud. I don’t want to lose you. So. . .”
“You’re not losing me,” she replied, placing her left hand on his right shoulder. “But no rings yet.”
“I went ashore just to—”
“Not yet.” Both her voice and her grip hardened.
So Parker got up off his knee again, rubbing a thumb across soft velvet. “Want to see it?”
“No need—it’s beautiful. Because you got it just for me.”
So he slid the box back into his pocket and mirrored her stance facing the railing, trying to parse her words. No rings yet, she’d said. Did that mean—
Which is when she interlocked her pinky with his once again, gripping tight—a
s if everything was already decided.
James
HE TOSSED DOWN his pencil, which rolled onto the floor. Stared out the sliding glass doors at gently waving marsh grasses, lit up with late afternoon sunshine—and already losing their summer green. He just couldn’t concentrate.
Two estimates lay side by side on his mother’s desk. The left was for a new downwind sail for MoreSea. The right was for a new upwind sail. Dean said he didn’t think they needed both to win next year’s race. James disagreed, but it wasn’t his money—and the prices were staggering. Would having both really make that much of a difference? So many other variables—including his own lack of fire for the entire project. It was just a goddamn boat race! So trivial, compared to the island’s problems. And his own confusion. . .
Joe’s will would make it possible to take over the ferry. Four months ago, that would’ve seemed like a dream come true: a chance to rebuild the island’s lifeline, and stay here on the island for good. But now all James wanted to know was if his replacement would be staying on too. In just a few short months, Courtney had morphed from irritant to irresistible. He had to know her future plans, before he could settle his own.
Since Joe’s service, she’d been avoiding him. Did she get that job back in Oxford? They’d be fools not to give it to her. And she’d be a fool not to take it. What southern girl would ever trade her hometown ferry run for the looming dread of winter on an ingrown New England island?
He bent down to pick up his pencil, then stepped out onto the deck. Late afternoon sun was sprinkling gold leaf across the harbor.
That had been a great supper out here with Courtney. Maybe he should invite her again tonight? She seemed to accept any invitation that involved a free meal. He laughed out loud, and the reverberations carried out across the water; he’d done the same with Anna. Not very nice, he realized; another apology he needed to make.
The previous afternoon, he’d finally biked up the hill to the bakery, heart hammering away. Barb held open the blue door, almost like she’d been expecting him, and then retreated into the kitchen.
“I’m not staying,” he called after her. But the gas hissed on under the kettle anyway, and the tea cabinet opened and shut. He knew the sounds of her kitchen so well; she would make tea he wouldn’t drink, because social calls of any sort—even this awkward one—called for a beverage, and that was the only respectable choice this early in the afternoon.
As soon as he stepped through the narrow doorway, she pointed to his usual place; there was already a scone sitting on a plate.
“Blueberry,” Barb said, spooning leaves into the china pot and then pouring water over them. “Your favorite.”
James pulled the chair underneath him, mouth watering. Barb settled in on the far side of the scuffed wood top. He’d refinished this table once, after he first moved in, before he stopped trying to please her.
She filled both their mugs and stirred milk into her own, left eyebrow kinked into a vee as if she was already laughing at him. He hadn’t even said anything yet.
“How’re you doing?” he asked, wondering what to do with his hands. The thin-walled mug was too hot to hold, though she was already drinking hers.
“Never been better.” She brushed a loose strand of hair off her forehead and tucked it back into its bun.
“That’s ah, great. Listen, Barb, I’ve been thinking—” he stopped, frowning. “What?” She was grinning at him, her head cocked to the right.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous before.” She held her tea against her cheek, reddening it with heat.
“Nervous? Well—yes, I guess I am. It’s just that. . .”
“You want to clear the air between us. That’s one of the many things I loved about you, James. You never sneak around behind people’s backs. Well, almost never.” She gulped at her tea. “I haven’t been living under a rock all summer—I know what’s going on. Though your quick turnaround did seem a little—”
“Didn’t seem that quick to me.”
“No, of course not. It always looks different from the inside.”
Her slurping made his scar throb.
“Look, Barb‚” he said at last. “I just want to say I’m sorry.”
She raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I fed you, you cleaned my gutters.” Her voice was steady, but her right hand shook a bit.
“It wasn’t right, the way it ended,” he told her, determined to say what he’d rehearsed. “And I didn’t want you to find out about me and Courtney from anyone else—”
“Courtney!” Empty mug clunked onto the table. “I thought you were hot and heavy with Anna.”
“Anna? Jesus, no!” James laughed. “We went sailing together a few times, that’s all—”
“And that night.”
“What night? Oh—when I had supper there. I see, that’s why you thought it was so—”
“You spent the night with her!”
“I left before sunset.”
“Anna said. . .” Barb’s voice trailed off. “But you always tell the truth.”
Mayor Frank hadn’t been the only one spreading rumors.
“I accept your apology,” Barb said, twirling her mug between two palms. “But—Courtney? I thought you hated her, for stealing your job.”
“I did, at first. Then I realized Lloyd was the problem, not her. I found out from Mayor Frank that Lloyd. . . well, that’s all ancient history now.”
“Kind of like us.” Barb pushed back her chair and set her mug down in the sink. His time was up.
“Gavin’s a good guy,” James added casually, like he was talking about the weather. “I’m sure he’s taking better care of you than I ever did.”
“Gavin understands I can take care of myself.” She turned to face him, drying her hands on a dishcloth. “Anything else you wanted to get off your chest? I’ve got dough resting.”
So he’d let himself out through the bakery door, wondering if Barb was also hearing the ghost of a question he’d asked her every morning, before heading down to the ferry: “See you tonight?” It was her daily chance to send him away, to punish his lack of commitment. . . and she’d finally done exactly that.
If he hadn’t already scared Courtney out of his life, he’d try his damnedest not to make that same mistake again.
He just wanted to sit together, he realized; not at the Bean, with all of its eyes and ears. Somewhere quiet, where he could watch that jagged oyster shell catch the light. Listen to that laugh, which managed to combine the giggle of a little girl with the throaty chuckle of a woman. . .
He glanced at his watch. If he left right now, he could make it down to the dock in time to meet the last ferry of the day. But then what? Surprise Courtney with a. . . picnic supper? They could walk up to the captain’s cottage, sit on the back deck. . .
It would signal commitment. But wasn’t that just what he was trying to do?
Before he could talk himself out of such a bold plan, he strode back inside and dug into the closet under the stairs for his mother’s wood-topped wicker basket. A few breaths to blow off the cobwebs, four bottles of Summer Ale and a cold pack, and he was ready to go. On his way out the front door, he spotted the diesel repair manual he’d been meaning to return to Mack and slid that inside as well. There was no way to strap the basket to his bike, so he steered with one hand and balanced it on the handlebars with the other.
At Mack’s house, he set down bike and basket. By the time he walked the book up the neat flagstone path, Mack had pushed open the screen door.
“Going on a picnic?” he asked, reaching out for the book.
James nodded, swallowing.
“Take the boat—more private than walking around with that stupid basket over your arm. Courtney can fill up the portable gas tank in Newport tomorrow.” Winking, Mack let the screen door slam shut.
How did he already know Courtney was involved? James wasn’t even sure she’d get onto a boat with him.
Whatever—h
is next stop had to be Prime’s. Pedaling around the inner harbor, he spotted the Homer just outside the breakwater. So he stepped up his pace, and rode his bike right into the rack in front of Prime’s—like he was a kid again. Dropped the basket, pulled open the front door, panting.
“Your mother’s picnic hamper!” Sam said, nodding back toward the bike. “She used to set that beauty right down on my counter— wouldn’t leave until it was filled to the brim. How many you feeding tonight, James?”
“Um, two.”
“Ah, how about the lady’s favorite then?” At James’s blank look, he added, “Seafood pie. I’ll wrap it in foil, be the perfect eating temperature by the time you two get to the beach.” Sam waddled back to the deli counter, whistling. “You’ve got plates and utensils right in that bottom compartment, but you’ll need a server. And some napkins. How ‘bout a six pack? Or maybe. . . a bottle of champagne?”
James shook his head, rubbing his scar.
“There you go,” Sam said, handing over a well-wrapped package. “On the house—thanks for organizing the sit-in. Or maybe I’ll put it on Chase’s bill. . . we can enjoy the irony, and he won’t even notice.” Winking, he followed James outside, resting his forearms on that belly while James reloaded the basket.
“Make sure you keep that pie upright.” And then, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Chuckling, James coasted down to the dock and stashed both bike and basket behind the fish shack. Nodding to the commuters already filing up the gangway, he listened for the diesels; Courtney must’ve already shut them down. Or maybe the port one had shut itself down. Better remember to—
No! Tonight, he’d focus on Courtney.
Billy loped up the gangway, chewing on the side of his thumbnail. “Going on a picnic?”
Should’ve left the damned basket at home.
Ferry to Cooperation Island Page 28