Home to the Harbor--A Novel Read online

  Bisky’s face contorted with horror she didn’t try to hide. “You poor, poor man,” she said, tears in her voice and eyes.

  “Don’t feel for me, feel for her.” He didn’t deserve the sympathy of Bisky or anyone.

  She ignored that. “As a mother, I can only imagine...oh, William.” She leaned close and hugged him again.

  Maybe it was because of the familiar, salty smell of her, or the fact that she knew him from childhood, but something broke off inside William then, a tiny piece of his grief. His throat ached and tears rose to his eyes, even though he tensed all his muscles trying to hold them back.

  “You can cry in front of me,” she said, patting his back as if he were the child. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  She was right about that. He remembered, then, the rabbit he’d kept as a pet, what his father had done to it, and how he’d beaten William for crying. William must have been seven or eight, and he’d run to his best friend for comfort. She’d hugged him and cried with him then, just like now.

  He pulled out his bandana, wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Then he smiled at her, a real if watery smile. “Thanks. I guess I needed that,” he said.

  “You’re here for the Victory Cottage program.” It wasn’t a question.

  He nodded. “The woman who runs it wanted to seek out people who had a connection with this place. I’m the perfect candidate according to her.” He quirked his mouth to show Bisky he didn’t think he was perfect at anything.

  “You are,” she said thoughtfully. “There are plenty of people who’ll be glad to see you.”

  “That I doubt,” he said. “My family wasn’t the most popular.”

  “No, but most folks knew you were cut from a different cloth. Come inside.” She gestured toward the house across the road, where her family had always lived. “I’ll make pancakes and coffee. Sunny could use a meal, and I could, too.”

  The thought of sitting around the table with Bisky and her daughter—her alive and healthy daughter—tightened a vise around William’s insides. “Thanks for the invitation,” he said, “but I won’t be able to. I need to get going.” He ignored the puzzlement in Bisky’s eyes as he turned and strode away.

  He couldn’t let himself get that close, feel that much.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SUNNY WALKED THROUGH the small downtown of Pleasant Shores and turned onto the road that led to Victory Cottage. She was thinking hard about her plan when she heard a shrill voice behind her.

  She turned and pasted a smile on her face. “Hey, Mindy! Hey, guys.”

  Mindy Ford and her cronies sauntered up behind her. “I love your shirt!” Mindy said. “Where are you headed?”

  Sunny looked down at the heavy fisherman’s sweater she’d worn against the cold wind. Mindy didn’t love it. She was a big fake, and no way was Sunny letting Mindy and her friends know her business. “Home,” she said, glad she had a little shopping bag from the hardware store. “Errand for my mom.”

  “Sucks to do errands on your day off,” Mindy said, and Sunny couldn’t tell if she was being sympathetic or making fun of the fact that, unlike her, Sunny didn’t have a housekeeper to take care of most of the errands.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Sunny let her eyes skim over the other two girls, Veronica and Sam, and then refocused on Mindy. The other two would do whatever Mindy said, say whatever she wanted to hear.

  “We’re stalking,” Mindy said in a low, conspiratorial voice. “I have the hots for Caden Reese, and someone said he’s been hanging around this end of town.”

  “Why here?” Sunny knew Caden, vaguely. He was from Mindy’s neighborhood and would have no reason to be among the more modest dwellings here.

  Mindy shrugged and lost interest. “If you see him, message me,” she said airily.

  “Sure,” Sunny agreed, although she had no intention of making that kind of a connection with Mindy.

  The trio headed on down the street toward Sunset Lane and the school, and Sunny kept up a slow pace until they’d gotten out of sight.

  The air was chilly, the day dark and cloudy. But crocuses and daffodils poked out of the ground, promising that spring would come after all.

  She looked toward Victory Cottage. Mom had said an old friend of hers was living there, which made Sunny mildly curious. Mom didn’t have guy friends. She worked with men all the time, but for socializing, she’d started hanging out with a group of women from town, one of them the mom of Sunny’s best friend, Kaitlyn.

  Sunny breathed in the loamy, salty spring air and passed Victory Cottage. She had her sights set on the little blue house next to it, the place Mary had tagged for starting the therapy dog program.

  Sunny wanted to scout the place, get it organized. Then she’d make a written plan for how to use it for the dogs. She’d overheard Mary saying she hadn’t decided how to use the house: as somewhere for the dog trainer to live, or just as a central location for the therapy dog training sessions.

  If she made good enough suggestions to Mary, maybe Mary would see that she was just as capable as any adult of setting up the therapy dog program. Better, because she knew the lay of the land here.

  She wanted it more than anything. For one thing, working with therapy dogs might mean Mom would finally allow her to bring one home. But mostly, she just wanted to have something. Something for herself, because she wasn’t fitting in as well with her friends these days. They were all focused on boys, even her best friend, Kaitlyn, and Sunny wasn’t all that interested in boys.

  Or rather, they weren’t interested in her, the biggest, tallest girl in tenth grade and a dock kid to boot.

  She approached the low-slung Blue House—that was what everyone on the street called it, since it was painted a bright, blueberry blue—and took a stroll around. The paint was fresh, and the flower beds in front were weed free, but a broken screen sagged down from one window. Mary had done some work on the place right after she’d bought it, but Sunny wasn’t sure how far she’d gotten with it.

  There was a fenced backyard from which you could see part of the Victory Cottage backyard, and beyond that, the Chesapeake. It was almost like the Blue House was part of the same property.

  She tried the back door. Sometimes people left their doors unlocked in Pleasant Shores. But this house was empty so sure enough, it was locked.

  She walked around to the front, glanced up and down the street to make sure no one was watching. At this late-afternoon time of day, the street was quiet. She tried the front door, but it was locked, too.

  She stood, thinking. She should really talk to Mary about getting a key. Except she wanted to get started on her plan now, today.

  She strolled back around the side of the house, studying the windows, and a memory came to her. Once, when they’d accidentally locked themselves out, Mom had boosted her up to an unlocked window so she could climb in and unlock the front door.

  Could she break into the Blue House?

  That one sagging screen would be an easy opening. She was tall enough to reach it, and she was pretty sure she could fit through the window.

  She reached up, pulled down enough of the screen to grab the window frame, and pushed at the window. Sure enough, that opened easily.

  Now for some gymnastics. The window was chest high, but her legs were strong from a season’s oystering. She jumped up and sort of dove into the open window. The first time, she fell back down onto the ground, whacking her leg.

  The second time, she made it. Poised on her belly on the window sash—ouch!—she started wiggling and finally got in far enough to swing around and put her feet on the floor.

  And then her heart gave a great thump. She was looking down the barrel of a gun.

  She drew in a breath that was a half scream and scooted back, feeling for the window sash behind her.

  “Don’t move.”
/>   It was a kid’s voice, not an adult’s, and a familiar one at that. She peered through the dimness. “Caden Reese?”

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “What are you doing here?” Her tense muscles relaxed, because she was pretty confident Caden wouldn’t shoot a classmate. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Could you put that thing down? It’s making me nervous.”

  He lowered the weapon and kept it at his side. “How’d you find out I was here?”

  “I didn’t! What are you doing, anyway, trying to set up a party spot? Because it’s not going to work.” She started walking around the room she’d landed in—looked like a little dining room—and then peeked into the kitchen. “Do the lights work in here?” she asked as she found the switch and flipped it, throwing brightness into the shadowy room.

  “Turn that off.” He flipped the light switch, but not before she took in the plate and silverware propped and drying beside the sink. Interesting.

  She walked past him into the living room. There, she raised the shade a little to see what was what.

  “Would you stop?” He yanked the shade down.

  She found a lamp and flicked it on. There was a blanket half off the couch and a duffel bag beside it. “You’re living here?”

  “Not your business,” he said.

  “It is my business,” she said, “because this place is gonna be used for a program I’m involved with.” Or at least, she hoped to be. “That’s why there’s furniture here. The owner, Mary Rhoades, is probably going to move someone in soon.”

  “No way,” he growled.

  She faced him then, hands on hips. “I can call the cops on you. What you’re doing is squatting, and it’s illegal.” She frowned at the gun he was still holding. “Put that ridiculous thing away.”

  “It’s a gun, not a ridiculous thing. It could kill you! Show some respect.”

  That made her smile a little. “Okay, okay, I respect your big gun. I’ll respect it more if it’s out of sight.”

  He rolled his eyes and stuffed it into the duffel. “Better?”

  “Better.” She studied him more closely. He was from the rich part of town, and wore the clothes to show it—expensive Orvis-type outdoor gear, same as the tourists wore—but his hair was growing out from his usual short, stylish cut, and beard stubble made his cheeks and chin look scruffy. “Seriously, are you planning a party? Because you don’t own this place, and it’s going to be used for something else.”

  “Who would use this place? It’s not tourist season.”

  Sunny didn’t want to go into it. “It’s going to be used for something related to Victory Cottage,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the window. “A guy just moved in there. He’ll report you if you get too loud.”

  “I’m not getting loud, I’m just staying here.” He looked away. “I need to not stay at home right now.”

  “Are you serious?” She knew kids whose home lives were rough, but not from the fancy homes. Of course, you never knew what went on in those places.

  He crossed his arms and glared at her. “Are you gonna rat me out?”

  Decision time. Sunny wanted to present her plan to Mary right away, before Mary found someone else to start the program. But there was something in Caden’s eyes that told her he was in trouble. Sunny was a sucker for anyone—animal or human—who was in trouble. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Not right away, at least.”

  Sunny didn’t like changing her plans once she’d figured them out, but if Caden was in trouble, she might have to make an exception.

  * * *

  THE EVENING OF the day William had come into town, Bisky lounged in a comfortable easy chair in the Lighthouse Lit bookstore. Mary had recently created a circle of chairs for a sitting area, and their little book group benefited from it.

  Their discussion had ended, and the shop was closed, but Bisky, Mary, Amber, Ria and Kayla sat around talking and drinking wine. It was a late night for Bisky. She rarely stayed up past ten. Fortunately, though, oyster season was over and since crab season hadn’t started, she wouldn’t have to get up early tomorrow.

  The little bookstore was a town landmark, its neat rows of books drawing in crowds during the tourist season and a decent number of customers year-round. Mary sponsored story times and book discussions and author visits, and her clientele was growing all the time.

  Bisky had always liked to read, but until a couple of years ago, she’d never have pegged herself as a book club lady. But here she was, talking about a trendy historical novel with a bunch of bookish women. Amber was a writer, and Mary, of course, owned the bookstore. Kayla, who taught preschool, and Ria, who owned a local motel, both had college degrees.

  They weren’t snobbish, though; instead, they were often fascinated by Bisky’s experiences working the water. Tonight, they’d discussed a book about Harriet Tubman, who had been enslaved in nearby Dorchester County and had led many people through the Eastern Shore’s woods and swamps to freedom. They’d grilled Bisky about how someone might have been able to survive on the water without funds, what impact the currents and seasons would have, what a raw oyster tasted like straight from the water.

  “We ought to do a road trip to the Tubman museum,” Kayla was saying now. “I haven’t been yet, and I hear it’s wonderful.” She waved off Mary’s offer of more wine. “One glass is my limit, thanks.”

  “I’d love to go to the museum,” Amber said promptly. “We could make it an overnight, even. There are some great restaurants in Cambridge, and a couple of cute bed-and-breakfasts.”

  “Count me in, too,” Ria said, standing, “but for now, I need to get home.”

  “Don’t want to keep that handsome husband of yours waiting,” Amber teased, and Ria’s cheeks flushed pink. She’d remarried her husband, the father of her teenaged daughters, early last year. That was how Bisky had gotten acquainted with these ladies, actually; Ria’s daughter Kaitlyn was a good friend of Sunny’s.

  “I have to go, as well, not that there’s any romance in my life,” Kayla said. “I just have to get up early and face twenty adorable four-year-olds.”

  “You’re such a great teacher.” Amber stood and hugged Kayla. “Davey loves being in your class.”

  Mary saw Kayla and Ria out the door and then came back in and sat down.

  “Speaking of romance,” Amber said.

  Bisky raised her eyebrows. “Were we?” she asked, and Mary laughed.

  “We are now. Someone saw you with that new guy this morning.”

  “What?” For a minute, Bisky was confused, and then she remembered. “William’s an old friend,” she said. “In town for Victory Cottage.”

  “Oooohhhh.” Amber nodded. “Hope it helps him.”

  “Me, too.” She’d been thinking about William all day. How heartbreaking that he’d lost his daughter to violence. It had broken him, she could see that, and she wasn’t surprised. Beneath his brawn, William was a softhearted guy.

  And losing a child would break anyone. Just thinking of it sent a shiver through her body. She pulled out her phone and sent a text to Sunny:

  Checking in. You okay?

  When will you be home?

  Half an hour max.

  Good, want to read you my history paper.

  Amber nudged Bisky. “So, this old friend,” she said. “Is it an old boyfriend? Were there vibes between you?”

  “With William?” Bisky tipped her head and frowned. “No way.”

  “Is it that ridiculous of a notion?” Mary asked gently.

  Even the idea of getting together with William made Bisky uncomfortable. She rubbed the back of her neck. “For one thing, you know I don’t do relationships.”

  “Not for longer than a week,” Amber teased.

  “Fair enough.” Bisky had the occasional date when Sunny was away on
a mission trip or at camp. “But that’s different. William’s a friend, and he needs a friend, more than anything.”

  “He certainly does, based on his application to the program,” Mary chimed in.

  And even if there were vibes between her and William—which there weren’t—Bisky didn’t want to ruin that friendship with an attempt at a relationship that wouldn’t last, given how men always felt about her as a woman.

  Oh, sometimes they found her a challenge: her size, her profession, her ability to throw around insults like a sailor. But it never took long for them to realize she was too much for them in every way.

  And that was fine. Bisky did well on her own. Raising Sunny kept her busy.

  “There could be potential.” Amber nudged her again. “Don’t let your past keep you from getting involved. At some point, it’s your own fault if you’re lonely.”

  “I’m not lonely! I have a job and a daughter and annoying friends like you.”

  “Your daughter is growing up,” Amber pressed. “And your work and friends don’t take up all your time, or keep you warm at night.”

  Amber’s words hit uncomfortably close to home. “Just because you found your special someone and got a ready-made family, that doesn’t mean every single woman wants love. Think about Harriet Tubman,” she added, picking up her book and waving it at Amber. “She was a strong single woman, and look at all she accomplished.”

  “She had love in her life,” Mary reminded them. “She was married twice, even if the first time didn’t work out real well. Everyone needs a little love.”

  “I gotta get home. To my daughter, who’s not nearly as nosy as the two of you.” Bisky pulled on her coat and left, waving and smiling to let her friends know she wasn’t really mad at them.

  But they’d pushed her on something that she worried about herself: the fact that Sunny was growing up and that Bisky was a little bit lonely, with a loneliness friends didn’t always fill.

  She had a good life, though. She couldn’t complain.