Chapter 4

At midafternoon Jack headed over to the recreational area to start repairing the kayak launch. There was no fixing it, though. It was ruined. He’d be better off tearing the entire thing apart and starting from scratch.

“Jack? What do you want me doing?”

Tristan walked up, hands on his hips.

Jack pointed. “I’m sawing wood to the measurements needed to make walking room for two people side by side, with a foot to spare on either side. I’ll saw and you’ll pile the wood when I’m done. Things will go faster that way.”

An hour later, Jack had cut enough wood to get them started on rebuilding.

Tristan walked over and wiped his hand across his forehead as if he’d done an entire day’s worth of work. “Is it break time yet?” he asked.

Jack looked up. He couldn’t blame the kid. This was probably as much work as he’d done in his entire life. “No,” Jack said with a laugh. “And if you want to do this job, you have to do it right. That means you need to earn a break.” Jack realized he sounded like one of those adults he’d rolled his eyes at as a kid. But someone had to teach Tristan about being a man and doing a day’s work.

Tristan stared at him. “I don’t want this job, but I don’t want to go to jail more. So what’s next?”

Jack repositioned the ball cap on his head. The sun was high and the heat from the saw was making him even hotter. “Next we switch,” he said.

A look of surprise lifted Tristan’s dark brows. “You’re gonna let me take a turn at the saw?”

Jack nodded. “Can you be trusted?” he asked. “I don’t want to have to take you to the emergency room this afternoon and get your finger sewn back on.”

“I can do it,” Tristan said.

This made Jack smile. “Okay, good. Let me show you how it works.”

By the time Jack made it home late that afternoon, his muscles ached, which he equated with one of the best feelings in the world. There was a soreness that set in after a good day of fishing. This was similar. The kayak launch was nearly complete. At Gabe’s request, they were going to build onto it, adding another lift and a small pier. Tristan couldn’t argue about the work. The damages he’d done were greater than just one launch. The boat needed to be fixed, too.

Jack grabbed some leftover Chinese takeout from the fridge and sat down at his computer to start looking at various designs he might replicate with the new launch and pier. His cousin hadn’t asked for anything fancy, but this kind of work excited Jack. He drank two more beers at the computer until he found a design that would be easy enough for two people to build. Then Jack headed to bed.

The next morning, Jack willed his eyes open, on the edge of waking and a nightmare. In the dream, Chris was sitting with him at the front of the Summerly, sunglasses reflecting a perfect day.

A day that was damned to be the worst within an hour.

Jack didn’t want to relive that memory, but his mind apparently did, because once or twice a week the dream came to him as crystal clear as the water had been that May morning.

“I’m heading back,” Chris yelled over the sound of the roaring motor, cutting through the ocean.

Dream-Jack gave a brief nod. Sweaty-sleeping-Jack wanted to scream, yell, curse until it changed the outcome. The boat continued forward, though. Dream-Jack smiled. All he could hear was the sound of the motor and the wind rushing against his ear. He never heard any yells for help. Maybe there had never been any. Maybe Chris had fallen overboard and been swallowed up by the ocean so fast that there hadn’t been time to cry out. Jack would never know.

With a huge gasp, Jack awoke, sitting straight up in bed. He’d have thought he was the one who’d gone underwater that day instead of his childhood best friend. He ran a hand over his face and turned to glance out the window. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon. Jack dragged his bare feet down the hall toward the fridge and grabbed a bottled water. He must have lost at least that much in sweat during his nightmare. As he drank, a knock on the door grabbed his attention. It was still fisherman’s hours, so there were only a few people it could be.

“Hey, Dad,” Jack said as he opened the door. “What brings you here?”

His father stepped inside. “Ah, you know how it is. We scraped the bottom of the boat on the seafloor early this morning as we were going under the bridge. Knocked us into one of the columns. Sam is taking it to get fixed.”

Jack shook his head. “I’m sure it was all Sam’s fault.” Sam and his father were a crew, the same way Jack, Chris, and Noah had been a crew.

His father lifted an eyebrow. “Of course it was Sam’s fault. Always is,” he joked.

“I was just about to make some coffee. Want a cup?”

His father sat heavily on the sofa. “That’s why I came. That, and Sam told me you needed to talk to me.”

Jack grabbed the ground coffee from his refrigerator and went through the motions. “Oh yeah?” he responded, realizing suddenly that this simple, daily conversation was possibly going to turn heated.

“So, how are the interviews going?” his father asked.

Jack prepared two mugs and poured their cup of joe midbrew, placing the coffeepot back in its holder when he was done. He walked over and laid the mugs on the coffee table, along with cream, sugar, and a couple of spoons. He liked his coffee black, but he knew his father dressed his up. It was the only thing in his father’s life that got dressed up.

Jack sat back in the recliner next to the couch. “Yeah. That would be what I want to talk to you about.”

His father looked up. “Well, spit it out. I can see you have your reservations. Why?”

“I don’t, actually. But you might.” Jack set his mug down. “I hired Grace Donner.”

His father didn’t move for a long moment.

“She needed a job, Dad,” Jack started to explain. “I couldn’t just let her—”

His father raised a hand to silence him. “Grace is a good choice.”

Jack pulled back. That wasn’t at all what he was expecting from his father’s mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I never held any of what happened against her. After the divorce, it was hard to keep a relationship with her. She’s a package deal with Tammy.”

“I know.”

“She’s a good girl, though. Always thought so, despite her mother.”

Jack relaxed. He wanted to believe that about her, too.

They were quiet for a moment. Then his father reached in the chest pocket of his shirt and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here.”

Jack took it and unfolded it to reveal the announcement for the Thirty-second Annual East Coast Fishing Tournament. He frowned. “I’m not doing it this year.”

“You’ve done it every year since you were sixteen years old.”

“I’ve also fished with you guys since I was a kid, but not anymore. Things change.” Jack didn’t even want to look at the flyer. He’d done the tournament every year since he was sixteen with his best friend, Chris. He wouldn’t do it without him.

“Chris wouldn’t want you to give it all up. The tournament is one day.”

Jack reached for his mug and took another sip of his coffee. “If I tell you I’ll think about entering, will you shut up about it for now?”

His father’s blue eyes bore into him. “Is that a way to talk to your father?”

Jack grinned behind his mug, knowing his father’s stern look was a ruse. “Yeah, it is.”

“So?” Krista said on the other line of the phone on Saturday evening.

“So?” Grace parroted.

“Details, Grace. I need to know how your first couple days at the Sawyer Seafood Company went.”

Grace smiled to herself as she lay back on the couch in her apartment. She hadn’t expected Krista to call, but they’d settled back into their friendship after all these years as if no time had lapsed between them. Krista had always been like that, Grace remembered. She was everyone’s friend. “It went well,” Grace told her.

“That’s it?” Krista asked. “I’ve been waiting for over forty-eight hours to hear the scoop.”

“No scoop. Sorry. There was one little blip with Sam on Friday, but Jack smoothed it over. Then we had lunch together at The Landing.”

Krista gave a small squeal. “A lunch date!”

“Not a date. More of a business meeting.”

“Shh. Don’t ruin this for me. I haven’t had any sparks with a man in forever. And you and Jack used to put off sparks every time you looked at each other in high school. Tell me everything. Everything you ate, said, did.”

Grace ran a hand over her face. She wasn’t used to sharing the details of her life with anyone. “I had fish, one too many hush puppies, and then Jack drove me back to the office, okay?” In the very same pickup truck he’d gotten when he was sixteen.

“Well, I’m glad you now have daytime hours. That means we can hang out more often.”

“That’d be nice,” Grace said, meaning it. She looked up when her mother made a noise from the back bedroom. “I have to go. Talk to you soon?”

“You bet.”

Grace hung up the phone and headed down the hall. “Mom?” She glanced inside the room and leaned against the doorframe. “What are you doing?”

“Knitting.” Her mother’s hands shook as she held tightly to pink metallic knitting needles. Yarn spilled onto the floor.

“You don’t knit.”

“It’s supposed to help with my fine motor skills. The doctor told me to work on those. See, I listen,” her mother said, focusing on her task.

“Right.” And this time Grace hadn’t had to beg her mother to take the doctor’s advice. That was an improvement.

“I’m making a baby blanket. I figure by the time I finish this thing, you’ll be married with a grandchild on the way.” Her mother’s gaze flicked up.

“Not without an immaculate conception.” Grace shook her head and laughed.

“How was work?” her mother asked, returning her attention to the needles and yarn.

“It was fine.”

“I still don’t like you working there. There’s no way those people will treat you right.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom.”

“Did you…see Pete?”

Grace walked across the room and sat down on the bed. “No. Not yet.” And as far as she knew, Jack hadn’t even told his father about her being the new office manager yet. He’d promised her he’d tell the rest of the family, though, before another encounter like the one with Sam happened. No more surprises.

Her mother nodded. “I’ve been thinking about this new arrangement you have. If you’re dead set on doing it, maybe some good can come out of it.”

Grace watched her mother’s hands tremble harder. A symptom of her disease or her anxiety on the subject? “Yeah?”

Her mother stopped knitting and looked up. “I screwed things up with the Sawyer family, Gracie. I was young and stupid. I’ve had a lot of time to think about those years. Maybe this Parkinson’s stuff is my punishment.”

“Mom, that’s not how it works.”

“No, let me finish. I need your help.”

Grace folded her hands in her lap. She was used to entertaining her mother’s dramatics. “What kind of help?” she asked, knowing she’d probably regret it.

“I need you to make things right between our families before I die.”

“Mom! You’re not dying. Don’t even talk like that.” Grace reached for her mother’s hand.

“Shh. I know I’m not dying today. Not unless I take a fall on these knitting needles.”

Grace laughed. “That wouldn’t kill you.”

“You working for the Sawyer family can fix things.”

“Mom,” Grace said softly, “your marriage to Pete is over.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to fix that, dear. That was over fifteen years ago. I just want to make amends, if that’s possible. You can do that for our family.”

“It’s just a job,” Grace said.

“I think it’s fate.”

Her mother was in rare form tonight. “I didn’t realize you believed in fate.”

Her mother shrugged. “And God. And free will. Whichever one works at the moment.” Her mother looked up. The tremors in her neck muscles were barely visible as she held her head high. “I also believe in you. You could do this for us.”

“I’m not sure that’s even possible. I don’t know if you realize this, but the Sawyers don’t like us very much. I think selling the boat named after their matriarch might have sealed their hatred forever.” Business professional was the most Grace could hope for.

“Buying that boat back would be a good start,” her mother said.

Grace glanced over. “We don’t have the money, and you’ve always said you don’t know who you sold it to.”

“Garrison Tomlin,” her mother said quietly.

Grace’s mouth fell open. “You know who bought the boat?”

“I know. I’m a despicable woman.”

“Stop that,” Grace said, raising her voice. “Just stop. You’re not despicable, but that was despicable behavior.”

“I was jealous, okay? You don’t know how it feels to be second best to a dead woman.”

Grace tried to understand. “So you want me to tell the Sawyers who bought the boat? They’ll still hate us. Probably more, because you knew all this time who the owner was. They could’ve bought it back.”

Tears collected in her mother’s eyes, making Grace feel guilty for her harsh tone of voice. “I don’t know how to fix this. I just know I’m tired of living with what I’ve done.”

Grace moved her hand over her mother’s, trying to still the worsening jerky movements. “I’ll figure this out.”

“All I’m asking is that you try to fix things. I don’t want to be hated when I go.”

“Stop talking about going, Mom. You’re not going anywhere.” At least not on Grace’s watch. She’d do whatever it took to take care of her mother—including finding a way to ease her regrets.

Jack looked at his watch on Monday morning. It was still five minutes earlier than the time he and Tristan had agreed on. He’d give him another fifteen minutes before calling. Jack grabbed his sander and started to smooth the rough edges of one of the wood pieces. After twenty minutes had passed, he looked at his watch again. Where the hell was that kid? Jack pulled out his cellphone. Just as he was about to dial the kid’s number, Tristan pulled into the open field across from where the new pier would be built and parked. The teen got out and headed in Jack’s direction.

“About damn time,” Jack said, not in the mood to baby-sit the kid this morning. This was work.

“I’m sorry,” Tristan said, pulling the ball cap on his head a little lower to cover his face. The teen was wearing dark sunglasses.

“What, you’re not even going to try to give me an excuse?” he asked. Not that he could think of any excuse that would appease him.

Tristan shook his head. “No.”

Jack nodded. “Uh-huh. Well, there’s a brush,” he told Tristan. “You can start staining the wood for the second kayak launch,” he said.

Tristan grabbed the supplies and started working without another word. They both labored in silence for a good hour before Jack headed to the truck to get a drink. He looked back at Tristan with his ball cap still low over his face. Dark sunglasses still covered his eyes. “How can you do a good job with those shades on your face?” he asked.

Tristan shrugged.

Jack had a good mind to yank the sunglasses off him, but thought better. Since the kid had arrived, he’d done a good job. “So about that water?” Jack asked again.

Tristan looked up and nodded. “Thanks.”

Jack grabbed two bottled waters from the back of his truck and headed back over. Twisting the cap off his water to drink, he sat down behind the boy and watched him work, giving him a few tips as he did. Tristan didn’t move for his bottle, however. “Something on your mind?” Jack asked. Tristan wasn’t just quiet, he seemed upset.

“Not really,” Tristan said.

Jack didn’t believe him. “You want to talk about it?”

Tristan tipped his head back to look at the sky as a bird flew overhead.

Jack’s gut clenched. There was a dark purple bruise underlining Tristan’s right eye. “Who gave you that shiner?” Jack asked.

“None of your business,” Tristan snapped back. It was the first sign of life Jack had seen since the boy had shown up this morning.

“Someone did. How does the other guy’s eye look?”

Tristan glanced over, finally reaching for his bottle of water. He twisted the cap off and took a long drink. “The other guy is my dad.”

If possible, Jack’s gut clenched even tighter, to the point it made it hard to breathe. He knew Dewy was less than a stand-up guy in the community, but he hadn’t known he was an asshole at home, too.

“Is this the first time?” Jack asked.

Tristan gave his head a slight shake. “No. But I deserved it.”

“I doubt that,” Jack said, unable to believe his ears. “How old are you, Tristan?”

“ ’Bout to turn eighteen in a few weeks.”

A man in his own right. He’d graduated high school last spring. “So why are you still living with your old man? If he treats you that way, you should leave.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Tristan said. “This is my first job, you know.”

“I see. Well, you can’t come into work looking like that.”

The kid stiffened. “Are you telling me to leave?”

“Of course not.” Jack shoved his hands on his hips. “I’m just laying down my expectations. We have clients here. If they see someone working on our property with a black eye, it doesn’t exactly send a positive message. You’ll have to steer clear of your old man’s temper while you’re working here. Plus, you deserve better. Maybe it’s time you came up with a different living arrangement.”

“I can’t. I have no money.”

Jack rubbed a hand behind his neck, lengthening the muscles that pulled there. “After today, your debt from the wreckage is paid off. I still need help building the pier that’ll go here, though. If you’re interested.”

“For pay?” Tristan asked.

Jack nodded. “Yep. But you need to get to work on time from now on. Think you can manage that?”

A smile twitched on Tristan’s mouth. “Definitely.”