Meet Me in Barefoot Bay

by Roxanne St Claire

  In that boat.

  “I know what’s back there,” she said, shifting her attention to the boat just as a sudden and unexpected memory surged up. A snapshot, really, of a moment in that rowboat, holding a paddle, smiling up at Mom, who held a camera, laughing, calling out Say Happy Birthday, Jossie.

  She put her hand to her mouth as the impact washed over her senses, so crisp and clear she could practically smell the brackish water and feel the warm wood of a paddle in her hand.

  “Why are you doing this?” She directed the question to Zoe, who really should know better.

  “So you don’t sell it in the yard sale,” Zoe said, obviously parroting Guy.

  When Jocelyn opened her mouth to respond, her father held up his hand. “Don’t try to gift me, girlie, there is nothing you can buy me that will equal what this boat means to me.”

  “It means something to you?” How was that possible? He had no memory of, let alone attachment to, this boat.

  “Darn right it does.”

  “What?” Jocelyn got close enough to see two bright spots of color on his cheeks, along with a light sheen of perspiration from the exertion. “What does it mean to you, Guy?”

  He took a deep breath, his eyes darting back and forth the way they did when he was trying to mine for a memory and came up with nothing. He finally gave a look of sheer desperation to Zoe. “Help me out, Blondie. You know I’m not good with details.”

  Zoe wiped a stray curl from her face, her skin also pink, either from sun or strain or mischievousness. “He was pretty dead set on the idea.” She pushed up her sunglasses to add a look. “I guess stubbornness is hereditary,” she said, a little too softly for Guy to catch.

  “Well stupid isn’t, and this is just—” Frustration zinged at the mere sight of the damn boat, little more than a tin canoe with boards and oars. But still, it had been their boat. “But you can’t just take this to the canal and leave it there.”

  “Why not?” They asked in perfect unison and, worse, perfect harmony.

  “It’ll get stolen,” Jocelyn said.

  Zoe snorted. “Have you looked closely at this vessel?”

  In the sunlight, the thirty-year-old aluminum looked more like aged pewter, all the shine it ever had long gone. The three wooden “pews” across the middle were faded and chipped, and the old marine numbers along one side were illegible now.

  “No one’ll take it, Missy.” Guy reached down to pick up the rope and hoist it again, the aluminum hull making a scraping sound on the asphalt.

  “You’re supposed to carry it,” Jocelyn said, automatically reaching toward the boat to stem the damage and stop the painful screech.

  “It weighs ninety-seven pounds!” he said.

  How did he remember that and not his own daughter? “I’ll help you.” She grabbed the side. “It’s supposed to be carried upside down, overhead. Three of us can do it. Let’s get it back in the garage.”

  “No!” he barked, making Jocelyn jump.

  “Guy—”

  “Missy,” he whined. “Let’s just take it for a ride on the river. Please?” He sounded more like six than sixty-four. “I want to show my new friend the islands and all the wildlife.”

  Jocelyn looked at Zoe for some backup.

  “Well,” Zoe said, “we do have it all the way out here and it’s a really pretty day.”

  Not that kind of backup. “No, we’re taking it back—”

  “Jocelyn!”

  “Missy!”

  Again with the unison and harmony. Whatever had made her think putting these two together was a good idea?

  “Really, Joss,” Zoe added. “Why not?”

  “Because…” She stepped in front of Zoe, her back to Guy, lowering her voice to make her point through gritted teeth. “You said there was some kind of emergency.”

  “There was, but I solved it.”

  “By dragging a canoe across the street?”

  “It calmed him down. When I got there, he was in his closet crying like a baby and blubbering about a canoe. The only way I could talk him off the ledge was if he showed it to me. Once we saw it…” She shrugged. “Well, shoot, I like boat rides. I thought it would be fun.”

  “What about this is fun?”

  “Holy hell, Joss, lighten up. He’s got nothing. He’s lonely and bored. Let’s take him out on the water. What can it hurt?”

  “It could hurt…” Me. “Without sunscreen.”

  Zoe tilted her head. “Say what?”

  How could she tell Zoe that a trip down those canals in this rowboat could hurt Jocelyn’s heart, and her head, and force her to unlock boxes of lovely memories and perfect afternoons that should never, ever be set loose?

  It was bad enough that the only version of Guy that Zoe knew was a sweet old man who loved needlepoint and reruns of home-improvement shows. If she knew there was actually a time when he was—

  Daddy.

  “I’m melting,” Zoe singsonged.

  “It’s nice and cool in the canals,” Guy said. “Shady, too.”

  “I…” Jocelyn looked from one to the other, then down at the ancient boat.

  She really ought to be able to go out there, take a nice little relaxing row, and move the hell on. Wasn’t that what she’d tell a client? Physician, heal thyself.

  “Okay,” she said softly, bending down to get a grip on the boat. “Go get the paddles, Zoe. Can’t exactly go up a creek without one, right?”

  Zoe threw an arm around Jocelyn’s neck while Guy shouted, “Hooray!”

  “Good girl,” Zoe whispered in Jocelyn’s ear.

  Jocelyn pulled away and gave her a withering look. “This was so not on my to-do list today.”

  “Ah, spontaneity.” Zoe looked up at the sky. “My work here is done.”

  “Like hell it is,” Jocelyn said. “You’re paddling.”

  The subcontractor meeting was coming to an end and Will had no idea what they’d discussed for the last hour. Clay had run the weekly meeting, as always, and since most of the time-line discussions were about the main building, Will had zoned out.

  Because all he could think about were those pictures. And the way Jocelyn had felt in his arms, how much she still got to him, all these years later. He was torn, confused, hurt, and, most of all, so full of anger and hate that he wanted to punch a wall instead of build one.

  “Are you, Will?”

  He did a double take at Clay’s question, clueless how to answer.

  “The marble inlay for Bay Laurel’s master bath. Are you laying it next week?”

  Was he? Who the fuck knew what he was doing next week? Or if there’d be any laying involved. “I’ll let you know,” he said.

  Clay gave a dry laugh. “That’d be good, Will, since I’m running the show.”

  “Sorry,” Will said, turning to leave the trailer. “Lot on my mind.”

  “No kidding. Come on.” Clay gave him a nudge. “I’ll walk over to Bay Laurel and check out your progress.”

  “I’m almost done,” he said. “No need to check.”

  Clay smiled. “I think we need to talk.”

  Okay. Either he was getting shit-canned from this job or Clay had something on his mind. Someone on his mind.

  They walked in silence around the other workers, taking the path to Bay Laurel, the largest villa on the property.

  “So how’s it going with Jocelyn here?”

  That hadn’t taken long. “Fine.”

  “You two go way back, I understand.”

  Will threw him a sideways look. “Yep.”

  “And now she’s planning to put her father in a home.”

  Which would be too good for him. “That’s the word on the street, which, obviously, you’re getting.”

  Clay laughed. “Lacey tells me everything.”

  A surprising little twinge of jealousy pinched his chest. “Must be nice,” he said, giving voice to it.

  “We went way past nice a long time ago.” At the villa, Will went ins
ide first, while Clay lingered on the front porch to look up at the second-story soffits that had been hung by the roof sub last week.

  “I’m down to the baseboards,” Will said, grateful he’d taken out all his frustrations on the dead blows that morning. “A few finishing boards, some putty on the nails, and we’re done.”

  Clay let out a low, appreciative whistle as he stepped over the threshold, a grin growing as he looked around. “Damn. That’s nice wood. Worth every penny.”

  The dark grains gleamed in the afternoon light, even with the slight dusting of wood shavings. “Might be the nicest floor I’ve ever seen,” Will agreed.

  Clay crouched down to examine a seam and the invisible nailing while Will waited for the verdict. “Might be the nicest floor job I’ve ever seen.”

  Will nodded his thanks. “So I’m not fired.”

  Laughing, Clay pushed up. “Why the hell would I fire you?”

  Will scratched his head and looked at the floor. “Because I don’t have a clue what went on in that meeting,” he admitted. “And my head’s not in the game.”

  Clay crossed his arms and walked along the side of the room, appearing to study the floor, but Will knew he was thinking. “First of all, do you have any idea what I’d have to go through to find someone of your caliber to come out to this island and work?”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “I mean it. I wake up in a cold sweat worrying about you getting a call from some baseball team, and then where would I be?”

  Will shrugged, not sure how to answer that one.

  “But I have noticed you’ve got a lot going on the past few days. Our schedule’s good, if you need some time off.”

  “I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll let you know if I need it.”

  Clay gave him a long look. “What happened in the car this morning?”

  Shit. Clay had seen him the very minute he had found the pictures. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You looked like you saw a ghost and damn near ran over the DOT inspector’s boots.”

  “Did I?” He made a face. “Hope we passed anyway.”

  Clay laughed softly, propping on a stool Will used when he sawed. “You really weren’t paying attention in that meeting. Yeah, we passed, and I chalked your driving up to morning fog. But do you know how many times you spoke in our sub meeting?”

  “I’m more worried about what I said.”

  “No need. Because you didn’t say a word, but that’s the thing about you, Will. You don’t have to.”

  Will met Clay’s sharp blue gaze, quite used to the younger man’s longer hair, earring, and tattoo. Clay might not look like a hard-core professional, but he was one. And wise beyond his barely thirty-one years.

  “What are you saying?” Will asked.

  “Not saying anything, just offering an ear. I know you’ve got some things going on with Jocelyn and her dad. Thought maybe you’d want to talk.”

  Did he? Did he want to tell Clay about Jocelyn being beaten? Hell, no. About her keeping it from him and him wearing blinders to protect himself? Not particularly.

  But feelings bubbled up, and the words that had tormented him all day were right at the surface. “I just found out that the one time in my life I should have done something even if it cost me everything, I did nothing.” He cleared his throat, looking away. “Now I have to do something and it might be too late.” He paused, the echo of his vague confession hanging in the air. “Did that make sense?”

  Clay laughed. “Enough. I know what it’s like to feel like you should have done something years ago and didn’t. I don’t want to pry, so I won’t ask specifics, but I’ll tell you this. Jocelyn and Lacey have been friends for a long time, so I suspect they’re made of the same basic stuff. Which includes the ability to forgive someone who’s acted like a moron, or an asshole, or a stubborn bonehead.”

  Will laughed. “Why do I think that’s the voice of experience?”

  “It sure as shit is. But the thing is, Lacey made it all worthwhile.”

  “So you fucked up and groveled back to her good graces?”

  “More than once,” he said with mock pride. “You have to know how important she is to you.”

  Will just nodded, unwilling to admit that even the thought of Jocelyn made him soft in the gut and hard in other places. He’d worn his heart on his sleeve enough for one day.

  “So take the time you need.” Clay pushed off the chair. “But get that marble inlay done soon.”

  “Will do, boss.” Will grabbed his hammer. “I’ll be done here before the end of the day and then I’ll start the bathroom marble job.”

  As Clay walked out of the villa, he stopped in the doorway. “What happens if you get that call?”

  Will frowned, not following.

  “From a baseball team. You are still waiting for a coaching job, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. But don’t worry, Clay. The pickings are slim and that call isn’t coming soon. Even if it did, I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch. I’d help you find carpenters to replace me.”

  “I meant what happens to you and Jocelyn?”

  Inside, his chest squeezed. “There is no me and Jocelyn.” Yet.

  This time Clay frowned, confused. “Oh, then I misunderstood. I could have sworn Lacey said that was one of the reasons Jocelyn is thinking about moving here to manage the spa. Geographic desirability and all, so I just thought…” His voice faded, probably due to the look of disbelief and hope and utter shock on Will’s face. “Never mind. I’ll check in with you later.”

  Clay turned and left before Will could ask any questions. Jocelyn was thinking about staying here?

  Hope nearly strangled him. And then everything was crystal clear: He’d do anything and everything to get her to stay. What was that whole life-coaching business about, anyway? Finding your passion. The thing that gives you joy.

  Well, he’d found his passion. And he’d do anything to make her stay.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Is that what I think it is?” Tucked into the pew at the helm, Zoe gripped the sides of the boat and stared at the charcoal-colored gator sunning along the side of a grassy hammock, not ten feet away.

  Jocelyn just smiled. “Stay in the boat, Zoe. You can’t wrestle him.”

  “I just want a picture,” Zoe said, patting her pockets.

  From her perch in the center seat, controlling the oars despite her threats to Zoe, Jocelyn threw a glance at Guy, who sat on the aft bench, his face tilted toward the sunshine like a prisoner who’d just gotten an hour of freedom.

  She tried to squash the guilt that image brought on, and the mess of memories churned up like the muck under the oars. Back in the earliest days of her childhood, long before his first “episode” ever turned Guy Bloom into a monster, Jocelyn and her father had spent entire days together on these canals, fishing, talking, spotting gators just like the one they’d just passed.

  “I don’t have my phone,” Zoe said, reaching toward Jocelyn. “Give me yours, quick. I have to get a picture for Aunt Pasha! She’s never seen a gator, I don’t think.”

  “Zoe, you went to the University of Florida. That’s our mascot and they were all over the lakes up there.”

  “But my great-aunt hasn’t seen one. She may never get the chance. Phone, please.”

  Jocelyn fished the phone from her pocket and handed it over, using the paddle to slow them down and turn so Zoe could get a good shot.

  “You know you have your phone on silent?” Zoe asked as she looked at the screen to figure out the camera.

  Because she didn’t want Will to call and find out where she was, and come after them. For all she knew he’d throw Guy to the gators. “Too peaceful out here for phone calls.”

  “You missed a text.”

  “Henry! Look, it’s Henry!” Guy called excitedly, leaning far enough to rock the boat slightly. “Henry the Heron!”

  Jocelyn sucked in a gasp and Zoe laughed, automatically counterbalancing the weight by tilting to
the port side to straighten them out. “Don’t worry, Joss. We’re not going to capsize.”

  The boat wasn’t, but her heart had just tipped over and sunk.

  Very slowly, as if she were afraid of what she’d see, she turned to look over her shoulder at Guy.

  “Henry?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion. “You… remember him?”

  He grinned, crinkling up his whole face, his eyes dancing behind his glasses. “Isn’t that a miracle?” He slapped his hands on his thighs and then tapped his temples. “Every once in a while, the old popcorn popper comes through with a kernel of goodness.”

  “See?” Zoe said, wildly snapping pictures. “Fresh air and wildlife is good for him.”

  “Darn right it is! Look at that big blue fellow. I’ve always loved him.”

  Jocelyn stabbed both paddles into the water, digging deep.

  How could he remember a blue heron they’d adopted on a fishing excursion—and this was probably the great-great-grandson of that heron—and not remember his own daughter?

  Or what he’d done to her?

  She stole another look at him. Maybe he did remember. Maybe this was all an act, so she’d forgive him. Oh, she hated that thought, but every once in a while it sneaked into her head.

  “C’mere, Henry,” Guy called, making clicking noises that would no doubt spook the bird, who balanced on one long, skinny leg, his bright-orange beak aimed skyward in a regal pose. “Wish we had some bread crumbs. He loves those.”

  And he remembered that? Pain squeezed her throat, making it almost impossible to breathe. Why did this disease work so randomly? Why did he conveniently remember the nickname of a bird, yet not remember his wife or child?

  Because he never beat the bird.

  “Hey,” Zoe said softly, balancing herself on two knees right in front of Jocelyn. “You okay, hon?”

  She managed to nod. “I’m fine. It’s hot out here.”

  “You want me to row for a little while? I think I could handle it.”

  She shook her head. “Who was the text from?” Will. Say Will. Please, please say Will.