Present Day

Pelican Pointe, California

 

 

Simon had adjusted to life as a civilian by shedding most everything that said military. He’d let his buzzcut grow to an acceptable length, somewhere between a crew cut and a messy windblown look. Over time, his brown mop of hair had turned a goldish color. Staying all day out in the sun could do that. He no longer wore camouflage and didn’t want to look at green or tan uniforms ever again if he could help it.

He never referred to time as O-something. Never. He’d served his country with dignity and honor but now it was time to drop all the Army lingo he’d picked up during his twelve-year stint and move on.

He wasn’t looking for thanks or accolades or recognition. He didn’t want to bring attention to himself. At this stage of his life, he pretty much wanted to blend into society and be left alone, to go about his life and do what he wanted with it.

The only reminders of his time spent in the military were his tattoos. He still sported the black and red Army Ranger band designating his unit, capped off with a skull and crossbones emblem. The other arm showed off a badass, fire-breathing black dragon. He didn’t try to hide them. He just didn’t shove his service in anybody’s face.

He’d ended up in this speck of a beach town because of connections. He’d stayed in touch with a few of his buddies over the years, namely Nick Harris and Cord Bennett. Both had moved to this place shortly after their Iraq experiences. Both had been messed up for reasons he now fully understood. He even knew Cord had once tried to end it all.

Simon never wanted to be that messed up for any reason.

That’s why he stayed busy. Three jobs tended to curtail any spare time left over where he could get into trouble or feel sorry for himself. A ten-hour day of hard physical labor kept him from dwelling on anything he’d seen in the war. Thankfully, he spent his days outside in the fresh air and not sitting in some claustrophobic office cubicle behind a desk pushing paper. Nick did that. And Cord did it to some extent as the town veterinarian. But office work wasn’t for him.

He’d rather help during planting season at Taggert Farms or spend time out on the water. He’d taken over the excursion business from Bree Dayton, ferrying tourists back and forth to a little strip of land known as Treasure Island.

If there were guests from the Bed and Breakfast who wanted to dive on an old shipwreck or fish from the deck of a forty-six-footer, Simon made it happen. If tourists wanted to take a three-hour sightseeing tour around Smuggler’s Bay, they knew who to call. If they wanted to learn how to dive, Simon taught them the basics of safety and provided them with all the gear.

Now that Bree Dayton had started a family, Tours by Bree had morphed into Simon’s own business he’d tagged Argonaut Tours. It was relatively successful enough and provided a satisfying way to earn a living, albeit seasonal. While summers were his bread and butter, when August came to an end, the hiking tours picked up. During fall, Simon could often be seen leading a group of guests along the cliffs, pointing out the best spots for snapping photos and making sure no one got lost, seeing to it that everyone made it back to home base alive and well.

Labor Day was usually the cutoff point. But this Tuesday in September, Simon had reservations to take out three fishermen who wanted to spend the day angling for lingcod, striped bass, rockfish, or albacore, if they could find it. The all-day event would net him seven hundred bucks. Not bad for a day’s work doing what he loved.

It was a little after sunrise when Simon made his way past the apple-green sign that designated the only B&B nearby, a place called Promise Cove. Owned and operated by Nick and his wife, Jordan, the Bed and Breakfast had been around since 2009 and was responsible for most of his bookings. Since he practically lived next door, it was an easy commute.

Every time he drove down the long driveway, Simon recalled the man who’d started out here along the coast, in this Victorian arts-and-crafts-style house.

In those early days of the Iraq War, his unit had crossed paths with the National Guard soldiers from California, led by Scott Phillips, a charismatic captain who possessed a gift for gab. Simon remembered a guy who bragged about his hometown relentlessly, all over the desert and back again. Their paths had crossed for the final time when Simon’s unit had moved in to back up a platoon of soldiers caught in a crossfire attack. Under fire and pinned down…

Simon blocked out the memory of the subsequent battle. As was his habit each time a scene like that popped into his head, he dismissed its power over him.

Instead of focusing on returning fire and desert engagements, Simon pulled up to the B&B on the Harley he rode and cut the engine. He kept his forty-six-foot cruiser, the Sea Dragon, moored off the jetty at Promise Cove instead of at the pier in town, because it was easier for guests to board directly from the B&B.

The trip down the long driveway through a copse of cypress trees always made his morning. The way the sun filtered down on the green stretch of lawn and the backdrop of the cliffs carving out the shoreline made him appreciate living here.

But it was opening the back door and stepping into Jordan’s kitchen that made it seem like he belonged. It was always chaos. Or what Simon viewed as chaos---a family’s rush to start their day. The scene came with a high-energy Jordan and an enterprising Nick setting out a buffet-style breakfast for guests and then serving pancakes to their own brood and doing whatever necessary to get them out the door for school. It meant simultaneously packing lunches for their two kids while taking care of the needs of up to eight demanding guests.

Simon wasn’t sure how they got it all done.

“What’s up, Harris family?” Simon yelled out over the racket, the noise of kids talking all at once.

Before he got two steps inside, little Scottie latched his arms around Simon’s legs and wouldn’t let go. “Did you bring Merlin with you today? I told Quake he could have a play date with Merlin.”

Merlin was Simon’s Newfoundland mix, a rescue that Cord had foisted off on him from day one. The pooch usually came along with Simon on most of his tours, but since this was an all-day excursion involving fish, Merlin could sometimes bark away the catch.

“Sorry, Scottie,” Simon began. “Not today. Long day on the water for Merlin means boredom. I left him at home with Silas and Sammy, so he could run around the yard and play.”

“Without Quake? Aww, man,” Scottie lamented in his four-year-old voice. “Quake’s gonna be soooo disappointed.”

“David Scott Harris,” Nick called out, using his son’s full name. “Let go of Simon’s legs and let him at least get in far enough to close the door.”

Scottie dropped his grip and did as he was told. “I just wanted Quake to have someone to play with while I’m at school is all.”

Simon ruffled the kid’s hair. “And I promise we’ll get them together this weekend. How’s that sound?”

But Scottie had already gone on to something else. Pestering his older sister, Hutton, was his second-favorite pastime.

“Coffee’s still hot,” Jordan said to Simon. “And I fixed you a basket of food, mostly sandwiches, for the trip.”

“I’d kiss you, but I figure your old man standing over there would get jealous.”

“Is Simon gonna kiss Mommy?” Hutton piped up, her caramel-colored hair so much like her mother’s, swinging with the bob of her little head.

“Simon is definitely not kissing Mommy or anyone else,” Nick returned.

“Let’s not rule out anyone else,” Simon fired back. “I am unattached.”

“Fine. But watch out who you call an old man.”

After pouring coffee into a mug, Simon slapped Nick on the back. “Don’t mind me. I’m preparing to spend the day on the water fishing and not stuffed into a suit. Like you.”

Nick glanced down at his attire. “Makes me question why I ever decided to go back to banking. I was a lot happier helping Jordan run the inn.”

“’Cause you help people get houses and cars and stuff,” Hutton explained. “That’s what Mommy said.”

“The important stuff for sure,” Simon agreed, lifting his cup. “Your dad gives people hope that they otherwise might not have.”

“I shuffle paperwork around,” Nick grumbled. “I used to have more time to spend with the kids and help out Jordan until someone talked me into sitting behind a desk for eight hours.”

Jordan kissed her husband’s cheek and patted his chest. “We’ve been over this. No one’s chained you to the bank. Don’t blame Murphy for talking you into it, either. You like helping people buy their first house or start a business. So don’t pretend you’re sick of it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the only reason that makes it worthwhile.”

Scottie stood tugging on his suit coat. He reached down to scoop the boy up in his arms. “Daddy’s gotta go to work. Be a good boy today for your teacher, okay?”

Scottie bobbed his head. “I like Miss Neenah. She reads good stories. And she sings good.”

Neenah Brewer, a grandmother and former teacher, had grown tired of retirement and decided she wanted to work with the pre-kindergarten kids at the Community Church. They adored her approach to story time and seemed to gravitate to the way she ran her classroom.

“Everybody loves Miss Neenah,” Nick stated before kissing his son and setting him back down on his feet. “If you’re done with breakfast, then grab your bag and head to the car.”

The boy scooted to the corner of the kitchen where a desk had two backpacks on top, one a red canvas carrier sporting a likeness of Spiderman, and another light-pink tote with Hutton’s name adorned across the back.

Scottie grabbed his bag and took off running through the house.

Nick swiped a kiss on his wife’s face. “I’ll see you tonight. Come on, gang, let’s get moving. We don’t want to be late. Hutton, don’t forget your lunch box.” He swung back to stare at Simon. “Nice day to spend on the water. Wish I was headed there myself.”

“Want me to catch your supper?”

Nick finally cracked a grin. “The kids won’t eat fish. But they love to toss a line in the water. We don’t do that enough these days. I guess Scott’s too young to clean one and Hutton thinks they’re too slimy to touch.”

“They may start out slimy but steam them over a smoky campfire with just the right amount of butter in the pan and they become a buffet. Where are my three anglers anyway?” Simon inquired. “The day’s wasting.”

“Dawdling over breakfast,” Jordan stated. “I made the mistake of making Belgian waffles and they’re lingering over their plates. Go on out and get acquainted,” she urged. “Shoo them out of here so I can start cleaning up.”

“Will do, boss,” Simon answered with a mock salute, disappearing through the swinging door and into the dining room.

Simon took a seat across from three guys in their thirties who were still stuffing their faces with syrupy chunks of golden crust. After making introductions, he found out they were all from a little town in Nevada, on a sabbatical from their jobs and their wives. A trio of overworked buddies who’d gone to college together and needed a break from kids and their everyday routine.

Jason was a gym teacher. Locke was a computer nerd. And Jeff was a press operator for a printing company. Just working stiffs who needed some time off.

Simon was willing to do his part to make sure they could relax and enjoy themselves while they were on vacation. He grabbed a couple pieces of bacon off a platter and leaned back in his chair. “Are you guys ready to catch some fish or sit around all day? Because we’re burning daylight and every minute counts.”

Locke drained his orange juice. “This is what we came to the coast for, catching us a mess of striped bass for supper. The owners said we could use the firepit in the courtyard out back to cook whatever we bring in.”

“We’re hoping for at least one tuna,” Jason chimed in.

“You won’t catch anything sitting around the table,” Simon pointed out. “Grab your gear or whatever you’re bringing and let’s hit the water.”

“Don’t we need to get bait?”

Simon smiled and took his sunglasses out of his pocket, slid them in place. “All taken care of. The cooler on board is stocked with everything you’ll need. The innkeeper even provided your lunch.”

Leading the way from the top of the cliff down to the sandy beach below, Simon came to a long pier he’d built himself. Two years earlier, this had been his first project. Born of sweat and pride in workmanship, this is where he’d left the dinghy tied up in the shallow water.

Jeff stared at the skiff. “Cool. Does that come with us?”

“It’s what gets us to the Sea Dragon and back again. So, yeah.” Simon hauled the basket of food onto the raft and directed the others to hop in. “Your fishing adventure awaits.”

Locke cupped his hands over his face to peer out past the cove and into the horizon. “Nice boat. I gotta say I envy your lifestyle. Free to work like this, do whatever you want. I bet you aren’t married.”

Simon shook his head. “Nope. So far, I’ve managed to avoid the manacles of marital bliss.”

“Not much bliss,” Jeff grumbled. “Just a bunch of yelling and screaming when you don’t follow orders.”

“Tell me about it,” Locke shouted over the surf. “Marriage is like a permanent stint in the Army.”

That prompted the trio to go off on an in-depth discussion of their personal troubles, mostly about their wives. Simon only half listened to the analysis because he didn’t share anything in common with these three. He had a great life sans marriage and he intended to keep it that way.

Pulling up next to the Sea Dragon, he motioned for the men to climb aboard and showed them where to sit and stow their gear. He handed out life jackets.

“Do we have to wear these?” Locke groaned. “I’m not a little kid.”

Simon slipped his Wayfarers down on his nose and peered over the frame. “You didn’t read the agreement you signed at the B&B, did you? The jackets aren’t optional.”

“Okay. Sure,” Locke said, sliding his arms into one while tossing the others to his buddies.

After getting them seated, Simon revved the engine, guided the cruiser out of the cove, and headed for open water.

It took less than half an hour to get to the spot that Simon had discovered brought a good yield. Each time he’d taken a group here, it had produced enough of a catch to make the fishermen happy and willing to come back. Happy clients meant repeaters who would return again and again.

Even before the others baited their hooks and found a favored spot at the rail, Locke sought out the cooler that contained the beer and began to imbibe almost immediately.

They wagered, good-naturedly, who would bring back the most fish and the biggest.

The sun was warm on their faces and the group seemed to be having a good time. Every now and again one would feel a tug on his line and reel in a brightly-colored, but slightly puny, rockfish.

“Do these have a good flavor?” Jeff wanted to know.

Simon kept an eye on how much alcohol the guys kept consuming. The heat of the September day seemed to make them especially thirsty. “It’s been my experience that Pacific flounder always fries up real nice. In fact, most anything you’ll catch here does.”

By noon, the guys were on their way to getting hammered. The more they drank, the mouthier they got. Between buddies, surly insults began to fly. Locke took out a bottle of bourbon and began to knock that back in between bottles of beer.

In the two years since Simon bought the business, he usually let these kinds of scenes play out without getting involved in the group’s banter. It was, after all, why guys like this came hundreds of miles out of their way to fish along the coast---to let their hair down and have fun without consequences.

But when the name-calling grew intense, and the profanity turned toward Simon, it reminded him of another time and place. These guys were acting like a bunch of frat boys who weren’t getting their way. When the insults came faster because they weren’t catching anything big enough, they began chunking beer bottles into the water.

Simon had heard enough and cleared his throat. “You know, you might be better fishermen if you didn’t scare the fish off. Maybe if you laid off the booze...”

“Hey, you can’t tell us what to do,” Locke challenged, swaying on his feet. “We’re paying for this lousy trip.”

“I’ve never thrown anyone off my boat before today, but with you, I’m willing to make an exception.”

“You can try,” Locke boasted. “But there’s three of us and only one of you.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who’s stone-cold sober and I’ve gone to the mat with guys like you before.”

“Oh yeah. Says you,” Locke retorted as he drew back his arm to throw a punch. “You’re not that tough.”

Simon would’ve had to be blind not to see it coming. He merely sidestepped the man, put his shoulder into his gut, and tossed him into the water. “Man overboard! I forgot to ask if you guys could swim. Which one of you wants to go next?”

Jeff put his hands in the air in surrender. “Whoa, not me. That was so cool.”

“How about you, Jason?”

“No way. Locke’s the one mouthing off. He’s the ass.”

“Locke!” Simon yelled from the deck. “Are you ready to fish or would you prefer to swim back to the hotel?”

“Get me out of here!” Locke screamed, bobbing up and down in the whitecaps, still wearing his life jacket.

“I don’t know, have you sobered up yet?” Simon stated, throwing a buoyed rope into the water. He went to the helm and started the engine, maneuvering the bow into the wind so that Locke would drift toward the boat. He cut the motor and pulled the tow line up to the side, reaching out to help Locke up and over the railing.

“I guess I had that coming,” Locke admitted as Jason handed him a towel.

“Next time, don’t throw trash into the water,” Simon cautioned. “And if you’re unhappy about the catch, I’m always willing to move to try out another spot. All you need do is ask…nicely. Just don’t go shooting off your mouth. I don’t put up with that crap. Not on my boat. Are we clear?”

Simon waited for each man to acknowledge in his own way. “All right. Good. Now what is it you’re unhappy about exactly?”

“We wanted to catch something really big.”

“All right. I’ll go out farther. But if you’re serious, you gotta stop scaring off the fish.”

After trying another location, the rest of the day proved fruitful. The gym teacher Jason caught the most at nine good-sized lingcod. But the real winner was Jeff, who reeled in a thirty-pound halibut.

Simon took pictures of the trio with their catch, so they could post it on whatever social media accounts they had.

“This’ll prove to Katelyn that I’m with you guys,” Locke said before all eyes turned on him.

Locke lifted a shoulder. “She got it in her head that I’m having an affair and thought you guys were covering for me. She was sure that I intended to go to Cancun with a coworker.”

That statement brought another round of disgruntled talk about married life while Simon did his best to tune them out, silently counting down the minutes when he could unload these guys back at the B&B.

But he was surprised when Jordan grabbed him as soon as he entered the kitchen. “There’s a woman in the living room who’s been here for forty-five minutes waiting for you.”

“What does she want?”

“She’s from Boston.”

Alarm jammed his throat. “Is it about my mom?”

“I don’t think so. She brought a baby with her.”

“A baby?”

Simon allowed Jordan to lead him into the other room where he spotted a rather stern-looking thirty-something woman sitting on the sofa holding a baby on her lap. When she saw Simon, she stood up, all business, prepared to do what she’d come to do.

Jordan made the introductions. “Simon, this is Margaret Tyler, an attorney…uh…from Boston, like I said. She’s been appointed by the court as the guardian for Delaney Bremmer.”

Still not worried, Simon nodded. “Okay. Who’s Delaney Bremmer? Obviously one of my relatives, right?”

Margaret cleared her throat. “Temporary guardian for Delaney Amelia Bremmer, who is the minor child of Amelia Langston and Simon Bremmer.”

He started to protest that she had the wrong Bremmer until the name Amelia sank in. “Amelia Langston? It doesn’t mean it’s the Amelia Langston I knew.”

Undeterred, Margaret shoved onward. “I’ve been appointed to represent Delaney. I’m her temporary guardian and the conservator of her mother’s estate. You obviously knew a woman by the name of Amelia Langston, address…”

The lawyer rattled off numbers and a street Simon recognized as the Allston section of Beantown.

“Uh. Sure. I know an Amelia Langston. I’m just not sure we’re talking about the same Amelia, because the one I’m familiar with never said anything to me about a baby.”

“I’m here as an officer of the court for the state of Massachusetts. Ms. Langston died ten days ago in a car accident.”

“Whoa. Was the baby with her?”

 “No. Fortunately the child was with a nanny. Ms. Langston’s will, probated two days ago, left the bulk of her estate to you and named you legal guardian of her daughter, Delaney.”

“To me? Why me?” Simon looked dumbfounded. He stared at the cute, very female bundle in the woman’s arms, wearing a pink outfit with a rabbit on the bib. “I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

“You’re named in the will as Delaney’s legal guardian,” Ms. Tyler repeated slowly as if she were speaking to a very dimwitted adult. “I’ll need you to sign some paperwork.”

“No way. This has to be some kind of a joke, right? Why would Amelia ever do that unless I was the father?” His own words hung in the air, suspended there in time, the implication sinking in. “Now wait just a minute. Amelia never told me I was a father. I haven’t heard from her since…in two years. You obviously need to find this baby’s real daddy. It’s not me.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re the father or not. At all. Amelia Langston made you her daughter’s legal guardian in the event anything should happen to her. It did. The court already approved you as Delaney’s guardian after doing an extensive background check on you. That took an extra three days, by the way. So whether or not you’re related to this child is immaterial. The court’s found you suitable as her guardian and Ms. Langston’s last will and testament, found to be valid, states that you are this child’s legal guardian. How many ways must I say it? If you persist in this childish denial, you should also know, I brought all the documentation necessary with me that says, you, Simon Bremmer, were named on Delaney’s birth certificate as her father. It’s an official document.”

Simon’s knees wanted to buckle. “You can’t leave that baby here with me. I don’t know a thing about taking care of a baby, especially a girl baby, especially one that young.”

“Toddler. Delaney’s a toddler. She’s fifteen-and-a-half months old. Everything you need to know about the child is in the folder I brought with me, including her medical records.”

“Not everything,” Simon muttered, combing his fingers through his hair. “You aren’t listening to me. I don’t know a thing about toddlers or kids in general. You can’t do this. She obviously needs someone to take care of her who knows what they’re doing. I’m telling you that isn’t me.”

“Look, Mr. Bremmer, the estate paid for this trip. I’ve fulfilled my obligation by getting your daughter here to be with her father. I’m delivering her to her next of kin. That’s the end of it as far as I’m concerned.”

“But I should be able to talk to an attorney to see if this is all legal. You’re being so pushy about this it sounds fishy to me.” Simon angled toward Jordan, his eyes pleading for help. “The lawyer in town who handled the sale of the tour business was Kinsey Donnelly. I need to talk to her about all this.”

He turned back to the unyielding lawyer. “Let me at least get Kinsey on the phone, talk this out with her before I sign anything.”

But Ms. Tyler ignored the plea. She slipped an oversized diaper bag onto the coffee table and cleverly shoved the toddler into Simon’s arms. She pulled paperwork out of a leather purse-like portfolio. “Sign here, here, and here,” the woman instructed. “And initial there.”

“I don’t feel I should accept…delivery…of another human like this. It isn’t right,” Simon protested.

“Look, Mr. Bremmer, I understand you’re taken by surprise. I get it. Anyone would be. But I promised my kids I’d be back home tonight. I have a flight out of Santa Cruz at five-fifteen this afternoon and I plan to be on that plane. Alone. Without Delaney. She’s a good baby, but she isn’t mine. She belongs with her father, her family. That’s you. Do not make me go get the local authorities on this. The police chief already knows I’m here. I stopped to apprise law enforcement of the situation. Who do you think gave me the directions to find you? Don’t make me call him in here for back-up. Because as an officer of the court, I most certainly am authorized to get whatever help I need if you persist in this manner. The police will show up and simply read the court order I have, read it to you slowly, and instruct you to sign the paperwork I’ve provided.”

With his hands shaking, Simon reluctantly scrawled his name as indicated.

“Thank you. Now, if I hustle out of here I can just make it through security and make my flight. I have the rest of your daughter’s stuff in the car.”

“I still don’t understand what kind of court order dumps a baby on an unsuspecting person like this, a stranger, and calls that fair to the kid. That doesn’t make any sense to me. I could be the worst person in the world and you just handed over an innocent baby to a…psychopath.”

“Not according to the thorough background check done on you. You’re a war hero, a former Army Ranger with a stellar career as a soldier. You’re exactly what the court sees as acceptable, even a good fit as a guardian.”

“I’m not that person anymore. I’m telling you…I’m not. Besides, I don’t understand why anyone couldn’t have given me a heads-up about this, a phone call, a telegram, an email, something.”

But the hardline attorney had already reached the front door. “I wish you luck, Mr. Bremmer. I do. But my job here is finished. I’ll be in touch with you later to settle the estate. It probably won’t be much after Ms. Langston’s final expenses are paid, maybe around twenty-five grand or so. If you ask me, you should set it all aside for the girl’s college fund.”

“I don’t want Amelia’s money,” Simon shouted as the woman stepped outside onto the front porch. But he watched as the attorney dashed toward the driveway as if the house were on fire. Once she reached her rental car, she opened the trunk, reached in and pulled out a suitcase, which she set down on the gravel driveway.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Simon said as he whirled to look at Jordan and then dropped into the nearest chair. “What am I gonna do with a kid?”

He was so upset, so bewildered, Jordan didn’t have the heart to crack a smile. “You’ll learn as you go like every new father does that I’ve ever known. Nick included.” Jordan sat down across from the two of them. “Do you think you’re not the father? Is that it?”

“I’m not disputing anything yet. I could be. But this is warped.”

“She’s a cute little thing. Looks like you, too. And quiet. Delaney is a pretty name for a pretty girl,” Jordan cooed as she tugged on the little girl’s foot.

On instinct, he jostled his knee up and down. “No one’s saying she isn’t cute. Her mother was a real knockout. But I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Amelia never told me. Why would she name me as a legal guardian and not tell me I had a daughter?”

“Because no one actually thinks they’ll ever die in a car accident. It’s one thing to make it legal. It’s still another to think it’ll ever become a reality.”

“And yet, here we sit. I can’t believe she’s gone. Although I never saw her after that summer we spent on the Cape. We had ninety days together. Less than ninety. I remember it was about this time two years ago that I first heard from Nick. He called me up out of the blue about moving here. By the end of September, I’d packed up everything I owned, which wasn’t much, and made the trip out here to check it out. Nick made it sound like Utopia. I couldn’t wait to get here. Up to now, it’s been great. Do you realize I don’t even own a car? I ride everywhere on my motorcycle. I can’t strap a baby to a Harley.”

“We’ll work something out. You can use mine until you get one of your own.”

“I don’t have any baby food.”

“She eats finger food, anything she can hold goes in her mouth anyway.”

“You do realize this is the reason Bree gave up her tour business. She had a baby and didn’t want to do this anymore. How will I make it work with a kid if she couldn’t?”

“For one thing, Bree made a decision to stay home after she became a mother,” Jordan pointed out. “You don’t have to give up your business. There are these things called babysitters that working parents use all the time. And for several years now the Community Church has offered something called child care.”

Simon heaved out a loud sigh. “Why are you being so reasonable about this when it’s nuts?”

“It’s bound to be frightening. And you’ve had all of ten minutes to get used to it.”

“I think I’m numb. I’m not sure what to do next. So many things to decide.” He sat there staring at the bundle in his arms. Never one to shirk responsibilities, not even for a brief respite, Simon stood up. He could’ve easily asked Jordan to watch her, or keep her overnight, or help him get her to the car. But Simon did none of those things. “What do I do without one of those car seat things to put her in? I have to get home to Merlin. Obviously riding the motorcycle is out.”

“Like I said, you can take my car. And I have a car seat that’s still in date that we used for Scott when he was about that age. It’s in the garage. We’ll put it in my Explorer for now.”

“Thanks. You’ve picked up the kids from school already?”

It was like him to consider whether she needed the car. “I have. They’re upstairs playing with Lilly’s kids.”

He blew out a breath. “Okay then, I guess I’ll see you Wednesday when the next tour comes up. Those are three guys who want to see the shipwreck, right?”

“No. And the reservation is for Thursday. You’re taking out a horticultural group who wants to document the flora on the little island.”

“Right.”

“Simon?”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again.”