Chapter 6
Her easel perched close to the edge of the rocky cliff, Claire had painted this tranquil seaside scene dozens of times. It was her favorite view from her family’s old property. Brides Bay glittered in the brilliant afternoon sunshine, its gentle waters lapping the long, pebbly strip of beach far below her. Diving and soaring through a cloudless sky, seagulls wheeled across the Spy Hill lobster wharf in the distance, their insistent squawks carrying easily across the half-mile distance. It was all so very familiar, yet everything in her life had changed radically since her childhood.
As a young painter, she’d focused on getting the colors and the shading just right, endlessly experimenting with her technique and channeling everything she’d learned in her Saturday lessons. Now, with years of experience and prestigious art school training behind her, she still struggled—not with technique but with translating her emotions onto the canvas. Art was about what you felt about your subject, not just what you saw.
And what was she feeling today? She glanced around, taking in the dignified if shabby old house and listening to the buzz of the saws coming over from the garage construction. As much as she might like to turn back the clock, she couldn’t. She couldn’t even freeze this pleasant moment. Soon enough, her house would be gone and something gigantic and ultramodern would rise up in its place, looking down its haughty architectural nose at little Spy Hill across the bay.
If that was progress, then she’d like to kick progress in the ass.
“Hey there, Georgia O’Keefe.”
Claire turned to see Meg tramping across the lawn in a white Brides Bay Concierges T-shirt, navy shorts, and white Keds. Her carrot-red hair was pulled back into its usual working ponytail, and she carried a folder that would contain the final contract for Ry to sign. Meg handled almost all the paperwork for their partnership.
“Hey, come on over and take a look at the view,” Claire said.
Meg didn’t halt until she stood right at the edge of the cliff. Then she peered out like an explorer, one hand shading her eyes. “This is awesome. Probably the best view on the whole island.”
“I always thought so.” There weren’t many properties Claire hadn’t explored on Promise Island. As kids, she and her sister had roamed free all across Promise, knowing the few neighbors they had in those days didn’t mind. They weren’t privacy nuts like some of the current owners, people who cocooned themselves inside their mansions with gates and walls and sophisticated security systems.
She sighed and put down her brush. “I thought I’d feel a lot less attached to it over time, but I think I miss it even more now.”
Meg took a couple of steps away from the rocky slope. “You said your mom was going to drop by?”
Mom hadn’t been to the property since their family moved out, even though Bert Budd had told her years ago that she was welcome to do so. She’d always said it would be too painful to visit. But lately she’d expressed a desire to see the old place one more time before the house came down. Claire had texted Ry, who was still away, to ask his permission. He’d quickly texted back a brief reply, saying that of course her mother was welcome to visit. It was the only contact they’d had since their interesting if somewhat tense chat at the Dory.
“I hope she does. This place was such a huge part of our lives, and she adored the view.”
“When I was a kid, I totally envied you guys living up here on these cliffs.”
“I know. But not because we were rich, that’s for sure.”
“No, the island wasn’t all fancy-pants back then. Nothing like it is now, anyway.” The daughter of a boatyard laborer, Meg had grown up in a tiny cottage in Maryfield, the poorest of the three towns on Brides Bay. She had no siblings.
“Why don’t we go inside and grab a cool drink?” Claire said. “You can leave the contract on the counter for Ry to go over and sign.”
They crossed the lawn and went through the house into the kitchen. There, she filled two glasses with cool, sweet-tasting well water. “Grandpa Maddox was a smart man to buy this property and settle here. Too bad neither he nor my dad is around to see how prices have climbed into the stratosphere.”
“They’d be blown away. Geez, Derek’s house is like something out of Disney World.” Then Meg gave her a mock stern look. “Don’t you think it’s time you came clean about what happened the other night at the Dory? I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about Ry in front of the others, but it’s just me now. You know, your best friend forever, Meg Reilly?”
Claire flapped a hand. “Oh, it was really no big deal. We just talked about how my family used to own the house.”
“Wow, you did? Exactly how did that little subject come up?”
“Because our friend Carter went and shot off his big mouth. Ry started to grill me about why it bugged me that he was going to tear it down.”
“And?”
She grimaced. “I beat a hasty retreat back to the stage.”
“Ouch. And then he took off before you finished.”
She sighed and set her glass down on the counter. “I think he’s a little mad at me. That’s why I want to do something special to welcome him home tonight. I’m going to text him in a few minutes to say I absolutely insist on doing a little grocery shopping for him, since there’s almost no food in the house. Then I’ll bring over some wine, light some candles, and maybe even build a fire. That’ll be a lot more welcoming for him than coming home to a cold, empty house.”
Meg frowned. “I get the groceries part, since we do that for all our clients. But I have to say that the rest of it almost sounds like you’re out to seduce him. Not that I could blame you if you were. I’m sure half the women in town have been fantasizing about doing Ry Griffin.”
Claire’s heart skipped a beat thinking about Ry and seduction. Okay, several beats.
“Seduce him? Oh sure, because that’s exactly what I would need in my life right now. Not.”
Talk about risky—and mega-stupid.
“Still, the guy is frigging hot,” Meg said.
“I just want to bring a little warmth and comfort into his life,” Claire said, ignoring Meg’s all too accurate assessment. “Just take a look around this place.”
Meg glanced around both the drab kitchen and the dining room across the hall that barely looked lived in. “It could definitely use a woman’s touch.”
“More like a complete makeover. I could turn this place into something special, but I’ll never get the chance. Not unless Ry decides he hates it here. And even then I’d have to win the lottery to be able to afford it.”
Meg grimaced with sympathy. “I wish I could disagree, but...”
“It’s okay,” Claire said lamely.
“It wouldn’t surprise me all that much if he packed up and left soon enough,” Meg said. “Brides Bay is probably going to bore the crap out of him.”
“Oh, come on, we’re not that bad.”
“You know what I mean. He came from Manhattan, after all. Guys like Derek are only here part-time and never stay very long, so it works for them. But Ry’s planning to actually live here, right? Unless he really does want to play hermit, I suspect we could see a for sale sign go up within a year.”
Claire had to admit to having had some of the same thoughts. Part of her wanted Ry to put the house up for sale, while another part already hated the idea that he might leave. “I’m sure he’s going to go ahead with building a new house here soon, though maybe I’ll be able to pretty this one up a bit before he brings in the bulldozer. I’d sure love so see the old place looking homey again before…well, before I have to let it go forever.”
When she heard a car pull up in the drive, she hurried to the kitchen window.
Mom.
Her mother got out of her ten-year-old Ford Focus and turned a slow circle in place, shading her eyes as she gazed around the property. When she faced the site of the new garage, she stopped turning and leveled a fierce stare.
Claire went out to meet her. “Mom, I’m so glad you decided to come.”
Her mother kissed her cheek. “Just for a few minutes, sweetheart. I have to get back to work soon.”
For the past year, her mom had worked as a waitress at Chloe’s Diner. As always on workdays, she wore her unofficial uniform of black T-shirt and black cotton pants. Slim and still pretty at fifty-four, her mother had no shortage of suitors in her social life—one that was considerably more active than Claire’s. But Amelia Maddox always insisted that she had absolutely no intention of ever remarrying. She’d said dozens of times that while she’d be furious at her husband until the day she died and probably even after that, Ben Maddox had been the love of her life. All she truly wanted now were as many grandchildren as possible. Unfortunately, both her daughters were failing her miserably on that score so far. Katie was married to a good man, a Boston restaurant owner, but they were career-focused and not anxious to start a family. Claire, on the other hand, wanted kids someday but could barely remember the last time she’d had a date.
“Hello, Mrs. Maddox,” Meg said, hugging her.
“My gosh, you had nothing better to do today too, Meg?” Mom said wryly.
Meg grinned. “I brought over some business stuff, although I was happy for the chance to take in the view too. Claire’s told me so much about it over the years. And she wasn’t exaggerating—it truly is amazing. I could just die for it.”
When Mom’s features went blank, Meg’s face got almost as red as her hair. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Maddox. That was a dumb choice of—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mom said, waving her off. “My daughter’s the one obsessed with this old place, not me.”
Well, that didn’t tickle.
It was true that Claire was way more nostalgic than her mother about the home they’d both loved so much. Still, she bet Mom’s insides were twisting up right now too.
“Girls, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go down to the bluffs by myself,” her mother said.
There you go. You don’t want me to see how you really feel.
“Of course, Mom. We’ll be waiting right here.”
“Not me,” Meg said. “I’m outta here.”
Claire knew her friend was cutting out early so she and her mother could have some time alone together. Meg was always so thoughtful and sweet.
After her pal drove off in her Jeep, Claire went back inside and started going through the refrigerator and cupboards, making a small shopping list. Ry’s staple diet seemed to consist of frozen dinners, cereal, orange juice, bottled water, and beer. The only vegetables in his fridge were some baby carrots in a half-empty bag with an elastic band keeping it shut. She wasn’t sure he’d want her to buy a full order of groceries, but she was going to text him a list of what she thought he could use. Most importantly, she would buy him a decent bottle of wine and get some flowers to warm the place up and make it look lived in.
After maybe ten minutes, she heard a knock at the patio door. Hurrying back there, she stepped outside to join her mother.
Mom pointed inside the living room. “I was just thinking about that old fireplace and that awful ice storm that devastated the island. It was nearly twenty years ago, but it feels like yesterday. I’ll never forget it.”
Claire’s memories of that storm were still vivid too, even though she’d only been ten years old. “Me neither. We had no electricity for six days. It was pretty scary. Not to mention cold.”
Her mother nodded. “That old fireplace kept the house from turning into an igloo until your father was finally able to get his hands on a generator.”
“I remember how he went looking everywhere, and only found one three days after the storm had passed,” Claire said.
“At least with that little generator we had enough power to run a couple of heaters and a few lights.” Mom wrapped her arms around herself as if she could still feel the bitter cold of an old, heatless house in a tough Maine winter. “The worst thing was that your father had to haul water from town because the generator was too small to power the well pump. We had enough water to drink and even cook a little, but that was about all. It was a hard time, that’s for sure.”
“We camped out in the living room because it was absolutely freezing upstairs. And we kept the fire going all day and night, huddling under piles of blankets to try to keep warm,” Claire said softly.
“You girls always said the only decent thing about it was that you didn’t have to go to school,” her mother said, smiling.
The schools had been closed for a week because the roads and sidewalks were too treacherous for students to walk and for school bus drivers to navigate their big vehicles. There had been a few bad accidents, and even a couple of deaths, when people made the mistake of driving too fast on the icy roads.
“That really was the only good thing about that miserable storm,” Claire said. She hadn’t thought about those days in years, or about how isolating it had felt to be stuck on an island with no electricity.
“Remember how upset you and Katie were that most of the Spy Hill people got their power back after only one day while we were still freezing in the dark?” her mother asked. “They were doing just fine, thank you, while the island had been practically thrown back to the 19th century.”
Claire frowned. “But why are you bringing this up, Mom? It’s not exactly a warm and fuzzy memory.”
Mom gave her a half smile. “Sweetheart, I’m just reminding you that it wasn’t all sunlight and roses when we lived in this house. Sometimes you still see this place through the eyes of a little girl in a really happy family. It’s easy to think everything is wonderful when you’re a child. And easy to think that a house could have much to do with happiness.”
A flare of resentment tightened Claire’s muscles. “But I was happy here. We were happy here. Then everything went straight to hell as soon as we left the island.”
Her mom’s look sharpened. “Claire, you know perfectly well that it was just coincidence that your father died two months after we left here. His death had nothing to do with moving or selling this house. The man simply went fishing too many times without a sternman. Bless him for trying so hard to keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs, but he pushed his luck and it finally caught up with him. I’m sure he’ll be the first to tell you that when we all meet again in Heaven.”
Claire’s dad had suffered a horrible death when his foot caught in the line after he pushed his string of baited traps overboard. Because he was alone, no one would ever know the precise details of why it had happened. But Claire and her mother were both certain that it would never have happened if her father hadn’t gone out without a sternman that day. His body was recovered from the bottom of the sound, the line still wrapped around his leg.
She blinked back a sudden sting of tears. “This house had good karma. I know that much.”
When her mother held her arms out, Claire fell into her embrace like a five-year-old who’d just skinned her knee. “I know I sound like a wimp, but first dad got killed and then my best friend was murdered by a drunk pig. If that motorcycle had been six inches further to the left when it slammed into Julie and me, I wouldn’t be standing here either. And Julie died in my arms, Mom.” She practically choked on the words. “In my arms.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Her mother’s voice was soft and soothing. “Life was really, really hard for you after that. But you’re doing fine now. You’re home, and you’re making a good life here.”
Claire swallowed hard, her chest and throat so tight she could barely breathe. “You’re right, of course. But sometimes I still wish I could turn back the clock sixteen years. To right before Dad died.”
She missed her father so much. The grief was ever-present, only having retreated to a safe distance over the years.
Her mother held her at arms’ length, giving her a total mom look. “That kind of thinking doesn’t help. You’ve moved on with the rest of your life, and it’s time to move on with how you think about this house too. Bert sold it to the hockey player and that’s that. You’ve got to let it go now, once and for all, or you’ll drive yourself crazy.”
Claire knew her mom was right. But try telling that to her stupid, stubborn heart.
* * *
Ry had slept through most of the short flight from LaGuardia to Portland, waking only when the jet’s tires kissed the runway surface a little more than an hour after wheels up. He’d been dragging his ass most of the day, and it was his own fault. He’d let a pack of former Ranger teammates take him barhopping through some high-end Manhattan clubs last night, on the heels of a Yankees game they’d enjoyed courtesy of a corporate sponsor. His pals had sensed that he’d needed to let loose a little.
He wasted no time deplaning and getting out to the Portland International Jetport’s attached parking garage. He still had a long drive home from the airport and had to stop on the way to pick up Stanley from the boarding kennel. Living so far from an airport was a big change from city life and, like everything else in Brides Bay, was going to take some getting used to.
At least he could count on everything at the house being in good shape. Claire had insisted on doing some grocery shopping, having made him tell her which items he wanted from the list she’d texted. When he texted back that she didn’t have to bother, she said she provided that sort of service for all her clients so he’d better get with the program.
Her text had concluded with several smiley face emojis to soften her rather stern message. He’d always hated those stupid things, but coming from her they’d actually made him grin.
Still, it felt weird to have her making a fuss. All he really wanted was for her to make sure nothing bad happened to the house while he was gone. Okay, he might want a few other things from her, but those were all off limits.
As he passed an old pickup truck that was crawling in the center lane—and, man, these country drivers were something—he went over the trip in his head. In particular, he couldn’t stop rehashing his appointment with the surgeon who’d operated on his wrecked left knee during the winter. Dr. Goldstein had lectured him yet again about how crazy he was to risk another serious injury by racing motorcycles, an injury that could very well disable him permanently. They’d argued about his sportbike racing at every damn appointment, even though Ry had made it clear that he wasn’t going to stop no matter what Goldstein or any of the other so-called experts advised.
Of course he knew that another injury to his knee could spell serious trouble. In the end though, what happened on the racetrack mostly came down to skill and a little bit of luck. He had the skill, and he sure as hell deserved a little luck.
And what was the alternative to racing anyway? He needed it and loved it—for a while he’d forgotten just how much. There was no way he was going to end up coaching high school hockey in Minnesota. That had been his dad’s life after quitting the game, and Ry had vowed never to become anything remotely like that bastard.
He had no intention of spending his days puttering around the house like an aging, retired dude. There had to be a point to getting up every morning—something more than just putting in time. When he’d confessed that gut-level need to Goldstein, the surgeon had called him a goddamn fool. Goldstein had said there were a million things he could do that didn’t involve risking his future mobility and health.
Oh, yeah, instead of racing he could waste his time on tons of boring crap that would make him feel like the best years of his life were already behind him. The only thing that staved off that kind of dreary-looking future was racing motorcycles. Doing what he’d loved since his teens, when riding his old, beat-up Harley had become something approaching an obsession. It had been his only escape from the hell that had been his life back then. It had let him fly and, amazingly, it still did.
No damn doctor—or anybody else—was going to make him give that up.