Home to the Harbor--A Novel Page 3

And the idea of her getting involved with William Gross was just patently ridiculous.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TWO DAYS AFTER his arrival in Pleasant Shores, William strolled the bike path that ran along the beach and the bay, his new acquaintance Paul Thompson at his side. Paul was a volunteer for the Victory Cottage program; apparently, he’d helped to set it up and was now student teaching at the local high school. He was an interesting guy, and William peppered him with questions about his career change from police work.

  It was a breezy morning, cold enough that William had traded out his baseball hat for a woolen fisherman’s one. “Thanks for making the time to get together,” he said to Paul. “Sounds like you’re pretty busy.” He needed to show the people in the Victory Cottage program that he appreciated their efforts.

  “Glad to do it,” Paul said, and they both looked out over the bay for a few more minutes as they walked, the blue-gray water choppy, the seabirds seeming to be blown around on the wind. “So tell me,” Paul asked, “what’s your goal for your time in the Victory Cottage program?”

  “Get back to work,” William said promptly. Which meant he needed to regain his equilibrium and his mental health. “I teach developmental math at a community college in Baltimore. Head up the Student Success program, from the faculty end.” He paused, then added, “I’m on a leave, but I’m hoping to go back.”

  Paul nodded. “I’m sure the counselor Mary has in place will be able to help with that, whatever you need.” He’d made it clear that he wasn’t a counselor himself; he was just assigned to help William get the lay of the land. “Pleasant Shores is a good place to heal.”

  William made a noncommittal grunt. He could see that, these days, Pleasant Shores could seem like a vacation spot. It wasn’t exactly resort-like, especially during the off-season, but the bay views and the quaint buildings and boats and friendly people gave the place a lot of appeal.

  At least, to someone who didn’t have William’s kind of history here.

  “There’s the hardware store,” Paul said, gesturing toward a building across Beach Street.

  “I’m familiar,” William said. When Paul looked curious, he added, “I grew up in Pleasant Shores.”

  “Is that why you chose Victory Cottage?”

  William shook his head. “Programs to help people like me are rare. My department head had a connection with Mary Rhoades, and when they...” He didn’t want to say it, but he forced himself. “When they suggested a leave, this was strongly advised. I almost didn’t come when I found out where it was located, but I knew I needed something.” Only because continuing along the same path would have cost him the only remaining good thing in his life—his job.

  “You didn’t want to come back to your hometown?”

  “Long story,” William said. Paul seemed like a good guy, but William didn’t want to get into the gory details of his childhood with a stranger.

  They walked across the street, a pickup pulling lawn-care equipment and an SUV with a couple of car seats both stopping to let them cross.

  Inside the hardware store, the smells took William back so hard that he had to stop.

  Fertilizer, paint thinner, wood dust and more: the array of goods provided here made it unlike any other store William had been inside since. The emotions it evoked weren’t bad, but he felt like he’d shrunk to half his size and was coming in unsure of his welcome, as he’d been at age ten.

  Paul must have mistaken his pause for confusion. “Home supplies are along the wall,” he said, gesturing. “You can find those nails you were looking for over that way, aisle six or seven. And Mary wanted us to get a spare key made.”

  William nodded, still taking in the crammed shelves, the various aisles holding everything from auto supplies to pots and pans, from work clothes to candy. It had been the main place to shop in Pleasant Shores twenty years ago. “Glad this place hasn’t been replaced by a big-box store,” he said.

  “It would take three or four of them to carry the variety that we have,” said a voice behind him. A voice that sounded familiar, and he turned, amazed.

  Mrs. Decker, the owner, had been old when he’d been a teenager.

  She stood there now, grayer-haired, maybe a little more stoop-shouldered, arms crossed. “William Gross,” she said, shaking her head. “So you finally decided to come home.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, not telling her that this town had never been a real home and never would be. Besides, that wasn’t quite true. If there had been any place in Pleasant Shores that felt homelike, it was here.

  Mrs. Decker nodded at Paul and then turned back to William. “You’ve aged,” she said severely. “You don’t look so good.”

  He grinned. Trust Mrs. Decker to tell it like it was.

  She held up a hand. “Don’t say it. I’m a little grayer myself, but I can still haul boxes and lift lumber with the best of them.” She turned to Paul. “I taught this young man his work ethic.”

  “She did,” William said. “With an iron fist, but it was good for me.”

  “Heard you got a doctor degree,” she said, her eyes softening. “Didn’t I always tell you you’d go far?”

  He nodded. She had, when few others saw any potential in him.

  She studied him curiously.

  Please don’t question what I’m doing now, whether I have kids. He didn’t mind making mention of his ex-wife, who lived in Baltimore, he was pretty sure with a new guy...it was hard to keep track. But although he could speak of her without emotion, Jenna was another story. He was likely to burst out crying, which was why he avoided the subject.

  She looked at him a moment longer and didn’t ask. “Reckon you have a few friends to smooth things over with,” she said. “Like Bisky Castleman. The two of you were thick as thieves.”

  “I ran into her the other day,” he said.

  “She’s right over there.” Mrs. Decker nodded toward a big rack of seed packets. “You go say hello. I need to get to the register.”

  “I’m going to get that key made,” Paul said. “Catch up with you in a few.”

  William nodded and turned toward Bisky.

  She stood in front of the seeds, talking to a tall young woman, and William was struck by how she looked in casual jeans and a T-shirt, her hair in a long, loose ponytail down her back. She’d turned into a pretty woman, and he was surprised to notice it, because he’d never thought of her that way before. She’d always been just Bisky.

  He headed toward his friend. “Hey.”

  Both she and the woman next to her turned, and William’s heart stopped.

  He was looking at an older and a younger version of his best friend. Bisky’s daughter looked just like her.

  She was also about the age Jenna had been when she’d died. Tall and slender, long hair. Just like Jenna.

  He must have stood gaping, because Bisky stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. “William, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Sunny. Sunny, this is Mr. Gross, that old friend of mine I was telling you about. He’s living in Victory Cottage.”

  The younger version of Bisky held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “You look just like your mom did at your age,” he managed to say, and smiled at Bisky. “Thought I’d seen a ghost there, for a minute.”

  Bisky put a hand around Sunny’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “I was never as pretty as she is, nor as poised, either. She’s a real good girl.”

  “Mom,” Sunny said, twisting away a little and laughing. “I’m not prettier than you were. I’ve seen pictures.”

  “You’re just biased.”

  They joked easily with each other, and William could imagine that they were well liked in this town. Both attractive, fun, openly caring for each other. It was a good thing to see.

  Almost too good, because it reminded William of who he’d b
een and what he’d lost. Despite the pain of his childhood, he’d left Pleasant Shores thinking things would look up for him, and they had. He’d embarked on a happy life, a family life.

  Sunny was nudging her mother now, and William recognized it for what it was; come on, Mom, time to go. Jenna had often done the same thing.

  Sure enough, they soon made their excuses and headed up to the register with their packets of seeds.

  “Nice woman, Bisky,” Paul said. William hadn’t noticed that the man had joined them. Mrs. Decker was beside him.

  William nodded. “Bisky’s the best.”

  “Single, too,” said Mrs. Decker. She raised her eyebrows at William. “You ought to ask her out.”

  “Me? No.” William wouldn’t even venture in that direction. “She’s a great person, but I don’t date.”

  “Never?” Paul asked.

  William shook his head. “Never.”

  * * *

  AFTER SHE’D PLANTED half of the seeds she’d bought, Bisky headed down to the dock, Sunny at her side. She’d told Sunny she could take the day off, that she’d look to hire day labor if she needed help scraping their boat’s hull, but Sunny had said she had nothing better to do and had joined her.

  They’d only been working a few minutes when Mary and William approached them.

  “Look how hard you two are working,” Mary said. “I used to think of fishing as relaxing. No more.”

  “Not this kind,” William said, kneeling between Bisky and Sunny to study their work. “Man, I haven’t scraped a hull in twenty years, but I remember it like yesterday. How my hands would break open and bleed.”

  Bisky knew William’s family hadn’t been much on taking care of their boat, but William had used to hire himself out to other dock families, and they’d usually found work for him to do. Everyone had known William’s family and their struggles and wanted to help.

  Sunny flexed her hands, showing them to Mary and William. Sure enough, several small wounds were open.

  “I told you to wear gloves,” Bisky scolded her daughter.

  “I didn’t feel like it. I can’t get a good grip if I do that.” Sunny looked up at Mary. “Did you reconsider about the therapy dog program yet?”

  “No, but when I do, you’ll be the first to hear about it.” Mary smiled. “I have a couple of applicants I’m looking into.”

  Sunny’s face fell. Bisky was going to have to talk to her about her expectations. Mary had made it clear she wasn’t going to hire an underage girl, and Sunny needed to get the message and stop making a pest of herself.

  There was high-pitched laughter from the street, and Sunny got very busy scraping. When two teenagers came into view, Bisky understood why. Bisky had seen one of them around enough to know she was a certified mean girl, and the other was a dock kid who’d reportedly just dropped out of school.

  The boy and Sunny were on good terms, as far as Bisky knew. The girl, not so much.

  “Hey, hulk,” the girl said.

  Bisky blinked. It was a name she’d been called as a teenager, but rarely since. And this girl better have been referring to her, not to Sunny, or Bisky would knock her flat. She stood and took a step toward the pair. “What did you just call me?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  Mary walked over to Sunny and started asking questions about what she was doing, not coincidentally shielding her from the kids in the street.

  “That’s what I thought.” Bisky levelled a glare at the kid and then knelt and went back to her scraping, but her face felt hot. She knew a few unkind people along the shore joked about her six-one, muscular frame.

  The boy and girl stood across the street, just one house down from Bisky’s, still looking in their direction occasionally and laughing.

  William stood and took a step toward the teens. He didn’t speak. He just lifted an eyebrow, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared them down.

  The girl opened her mouth, a snide smile on her face.

  “Don’t mess with him, he’s huge!” the boy said. He took a few steps away from her, moving to where he was in Sunny’s line of sight. “I’m taking off. See you, Sunny.”

  “Later,” Sunny said and quickly refocused on her work.

  Bisky was glad that the boy had seemed to distance himself from the girl and that he had been friendly to Sunny.

  Still, as soon as they were out of sight, Sunny threw down her scraper. “I’m too tired to do this, Mom. Maybe later.” She walked off toward the house, shoulders slumped.

  William stared after her, long enough that Bisky joked, “Take a picture.”

  “Sorry.” He turned and looked from her to Mary. “She reminds me of my daughter half the time, and of Bisky the other half. I don’t mean to be creepy.”

  “You’re not creepy.” Bisky’s heart ached for him, and on impulse, she handed him Sunny’s scraper. “Want to take a turn for old time’s sake?”

  He smiled and took the scraper in his hand, which dwarfed it. Then he got down on his back and started scraping the most difficult part of the hull to reach. That was William, she remembered. He’d always just assumed that he should take on the hardest job. He hadn’t shirked from it.

  Mary sat in a deck chair and watched them work. “I’ve been racking my brain to figure out this man’s volunteer job,” she said, “but maybe we should just put him to work doing manual labor.”

  From under the boat, they heard his laugh. “It comes right back to me,” he said, “but I don’t know that I’d last a whole shift at it.” He held out his own hands, already scraped. “I’m soft now.”

  “And you should do something in line with your training and talents,” Mary said firmly. “I don’t suppose those include an interest in working with therapy dogs?”

  William frowned. “I’m not against it, exactly, but I also don’t know anything about dogs. I doubt I’d be good at it.”

  “Or you could work with teenagers,” Mary said. “You know, young people like those two that just walked by. They’re not always very well prepared for the world they’ll live in.”

  Bisky smiled at William. “You’d be terrific helping kids like that,” she said. “They don’t know what they’re doing, any more than you did. You’d relate well to them. They need a male role model, in many cases. Need to understand the value of an education.” She turned to Mary. “William was a dock kid and dropped out of school,” she said. “You probably already knew that.”

  “It sounds like a possibility,” Mary said to William. “Do you like teenagers?”

  William looked at her, and his face tightened. “I do, but...sometimes, I have some trouble,” he said.

  “Your daughter?” Mary asked.

  He nodded, then turned back to his scraping.

  “We’ll keep thinking about it,” Mary said. “I need to get back to the bookstore.”

  “I’ll stay here and finish what I started,” William said, and Bisky was unaccountably glad of it.

  She started sweeping up the paint scraps from where she and Sunny had been working. The morning had started out cool, but the afternoon sunshine had warmed things up, and the sky was still bright Chesapeake blue. She leaned on her broom a minute and looked out over the bay, watching the gulls fight over a small fish one of them had found.

  “So the teenagers around here are struggling?” William asked as he scraped.

  “Some. You know how it is. They’re attached, they love the place, but there’s nothing for them here.” She looked back out over the water. “The bay’s in their blood, but it’s a hard way to earn a living.”

  He slid out from under the boat and wiped his hands on a towel. “Got the center bottom done. Hardest part. I can give you a hand with the rest of it if you want.”

  “What do you want?” she asked impulsively. She finished her sweeping and leaned back against the
dock railing, looking at him. “Remember when we’d ask each other that and dream about the future?”

  He hoisted himself up to the bench in front of the shed and nodded. “I talked about becoming a merchant marine,” he said.

  “And I was going to be a teacher. Now you’re the teacher, and I’m...running the business. I should have figured.”

  “Your folks are both gone?”

  Bisky nodded. “Mom got cancer, and Dad...well, you know. He smoked too much, and ate too much, and then his heart went out when he was fifty-eight.” She sat down beside him on the bench.

  William scooted closer and put a big, gentle arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. You’ve had it hard.”

  She let herself lean in. That was something she rarely got the chance to do. Others leaned on her, but she was the rock, the strong one.

  “Nice to have an old friend around,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m glad you came back.”

  He looked down at her, his face only inches away from hers. He was smiling, his expression open and guileless, but then his eyes darkened and he tilted his head to the side, studying her.

  Her breathing hitched. She couldn’t look away.

  And then he was standing up, brushing his hands together as if washing off the feel of her. “Well. Good to talk. See you around.”

  He turned and strode away without a backward glance.

  Bisky leaned against the wall, shaken, her heart beating hard. What had just happened between her and her dear old friend?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SUNNY HAD BEEN excited when Mary asked her to come to the bookstore after school. Maybe Mary had changed her mind and wanted to put her in charge of the program. Sunny had watched a ton of YouTube videos already and knew that it would take a lot to get herself up to speed. All the dogs would need to be tested by a registered therapy dog group before they could get their certification; maybe, they’d have to be tested with their owners, so Sunny would end up training people as well as dogs.

  That was the part that worried her. Dogs she could handle, but figuring out how to tell adults they were doing things wrong...that would take some finesse.