Starfish pier, p.19
Starfish Pier, page 19
Another huge detriment to romance.
Couples could disagree on many subjects, but conflicting positions on moral issues were apt to cause a huge rift.
She tucked her purse into a desk drawer and watched through the window as her first-grade students played in the schoolyard.
So carefree.
So innocent.
So insulated from the kinds of dilemmas adults faced.
Not that childhood was without angst—but at their age, the complexities of adult relationships were years away.
She sat, picked up a pen, and doodled a heart on a scrap of paper.
Perhaps—if she viewed this through the lens of logic—she should be grateful the cannon had washed up on shore and she’d been pulled into a public declaration about it. Marci’s request may have been a literal godsend. A message from the Almighty that she should be cautious about letting herself become too enamored with a man whose past was shadowed in mystery.
Kind of the same warning her mother had given her.
And this time she would heed it. She wouldn’t apologize for her views, and she wouldn’t seek Steven out. If they met again, it would be by happenstance—or initiated by him.
Like that would happen.
She put an X through the heart.
What she ought to do was X the man out of her mind—her top priority going forward.
Trouble was, she couldn’t control her dreams—and the intriguing ex-soldier had been infiltrating them on a regular basis.
Just as he’d infiltrated her heart.
And how did you banish a person from your subconscious?
Especially if deep inside, you didn’t want to.
That had been awkward.
As Patrick followed Holly next door, he swiped off the sweat beading on his upper lip.
Maybe he shouldn’t have broached the subject, but how could he not have mentioned the article about the cannon when everyone in Hope Harbor had either already read it or soon would?
Too bad he couldn’t have gotten Steven’s take before this appointment with Holly. His brother’s parting from her at the door on Sunday—and Cindy’s opinion that sparks were flying between the two—suggested a budding romance. If so, he didn’t want to jinx it.
Personally, he couldn’t care less what Holly thought about the cannon. And hey, if the town didn’t want it, he and Cindy could always put it in the backyard.
But the notion of a historic marker that told Jedediah’s story was beginning to grow on him. While his great-great-great-grandfather hadn’t been a pacifist, he’d lived a virtuous life that ought to be celebrated. If public display of the cannon helped do that, he was all for it.
That didn’t mean he and Holly had to squabble, though—as he’d told her within minutes of showing up at her door. Everyone was entitled to their opinion.
His frankness had seemed to surprise her—but while she’d said Marci hadn’t told her who owned the cannon when she’d agreed to write the piece, she hadn’t suggested that fact altered her opinion.
The question was, how would Steven feel about this unexpected development?
Given his military background, that was tough to answer. If he liked her as much as Cindy was convinced he did, it was possible he’d be able to overlook their different viewpoints—or sway her toward his opinion.
Whatever his response, though, being blindsided wasn’t going to help matters.
Patrick pulled out his cell and skimmed his texts. No response to the one he’d sent a couple of hours ago, alerting Steven to get a copy of this week’s Herald ASAP.
Bad news.
If his brother ran into Holly before he was up to speed, it could be—
“You may have to do a bit of a sell job here.” Holly stopped at the step to her neighbor’s small front porch and dropped her voice. “Pete can be rather crusty and off-putting, but I think he could use a few friends. I get the feeling he’s been keeping to himself since his wife died. And he has no family. As far as I know, I’m the only one in town he’s met.”
Patrick stowed his phone and shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the trembling that had nothing to do with nervousness about meeting Holly’s neighbor. It was another sneak attack of the shakes—and a headache was also beginning to thump in his temples.
Rotten timing.
But he’d have to muscle through and pull out the charm if he wanted this job.
“I’ll do my best to wow him.”
“Let’s hope he’s in a receptive mood. I know another lawn job would help you, and he could use more human interaction.” Holly gripped the railing with her uninjured hand, maneuvered up the one step, and rang the bell.
Two seconds later, the door opened—as if the owner had been watching them through the window.
The older man was on the scrawny side, with thin silver hair and sharp blue eyes. Despite his air of fragility, however, his handshake after Holly introduced them was firm.
“Here’s that taco I promised you, Pete.” She handed the man a brown bag. “I’d wager a week’s pay this will rouse your appetite. And now I’ll leave you two to discuss business.” She stepped off the porch. “Whatever time works for you tomorrow is fine, Patrick. I don’t have to be here. But be careful with that gorse bush. It has a strong defense system.”
“No worries. I’ll come armed for attack.”
As Holly continued down the walk, he angled back to find Pete Wallace appraising him.
“I understand you lost your job because of alcohol.”
O-kay.
Lucky Holly had told him that both she and her neighbor were aware of his problem, or the man’s abrupt comment would have caught him more off guard than it did.
Obviously Pete wasn’t a pussyfooter—and he was living up to the “crusty” badge Holly had given him.
This could be a short interview.
“Yes sir, I did.” No reason not to be honest. Most of the town had gotten wind of the truth at this point. “But I’m seeing a counselor and working hard to get another shot at the mill. I haven’t touched alcohol since I was laid off.”
“When was that?”
“Eight days ago.”
“Not a very long record of abstinence.”
In truth, it felt like a lifetime.
“I consider every day a victory.” He straightened his shoulders. “And I don’t intend to lose this war. I have a wife I love and two children who mean the world to me. I view the layoff as a wake-up call. A gift, almost. It’s a second chance, and I don’t intend to blow it.”
Pete studied him for a few moments, and Patrick met the man’s gaze steadily, willing the headache to remain at bay for the duration of this informal job interview.
“Hmph.” Pete’s nose twitched, and he lifted the brown bag clutched in his hand. Sniffed it. Crimped the top tighter. “I won’t have any drinking on the job. I expect you to show up on schedule. I require diligent work, including thorough cleanup.”
“Understood.”
“You want to walk around the yard and give me a price?”
“I sized it up while I walked back to your neighbor’s gorse bush.” He quoted the man a dollar amount. “But I’m willing to negotiate.”
Pete squinted at him. “You’re underpricing your services.”
“I need the work.”
“I’ll make you a counteroffer.”
At the figure the man suggested, Patrick’s eyebrows rose. “I think the bargaining process is supposed to work the other way.”
“I don’t believe in underpaying reliable people who do high-quality work. If the work’s not up to par, we’ll have another discussion.”
“It will be. Do you want me to start tomorrow? You’re due for a cutting.” Past due, given the length of the grass.
“That’ll be fine. My equipment’s in the shed. You’re welcome to use it or bring your own. Knock on the door after you’re finished and I’ll write you a check.”
“Thanks. I appreciate the chance.”
“See you tomorrow.” Without waiting for a reply, Pete closed the door, leaving behind the aroma of Charley’s tacos.
Patrick backed up.
In general, that smell sent his salivary glands into overdrive.
Not today.
The pounding in his temples intensified, and he carefully turned, trying to keep his head steady as he walked back to his car, doing his best to eradicate a sudden craving for alcohol.
Gatorade and a cold shower would help.
ASAP.
Focusing on what mattered was also critical.
Fingers trembling, he pulled out his wallet and flipped to the family photo.
This was his motive for staying sober.
He had the very things Steven envied—a beautiful, caring wife . . . two precious children . . . and a home filled with love.
No way was he letting all that slip through his fingers. While the battle was taxing and the temptation fierce, he was holding his own.
Keeping busy helped—and as of today, he had two new customers. Lawn jobs weren’t enough to pay all the bills, but one by one they were adding up—and with Cindy’s increased hours, they’d make it through the six weeks as long as he didn’t slip up . . . or slide back.
And he wouldn’t.
Instead, he’d keep in mind all the tips the counselor had given him—along with Reverend Baker’s timely sermon on Sunday. Directing his energies outward as well as inward could help him over the hump. As the minister had said, instead of obsessing over our own tribulations, if we shine a light in the life of someone who’s trapped in darkness, our own trials can become lighter and easier to bear.
Patrick paused beside his car and glanced back at Pete’s house. Holly had seemed worried about the man’s solitary existence—and now that he’d met him, her concerns seemed legit. Not once had the older man’s lips flexed a fraction of an inch to hint at a smile.
Mom had had a saying about that. What was it again?
Oh yeah—people who smile the least are often the ones who need smiles the most.
From what he could tell, Pete was in that camp.
So while he was here tomorrow, he’d put his own issues on the back burner and see if he could add a touch of cheer to a stranger’s life.
It might not help either of them much—but it sure couldn’t hurt.
17
Tucking the latest edition of the Herald under his arm, Steven dipped his head against the chilly Wednesday morning wind, boarded his boat, and tightened his grip on his thermos. Too bad the Perfect Blend didn’t open until seven—but after all his years in the Middle East, he knew how to brew potent coffee. Thick, strong, and straight—with a hint of cardamom—it always charged his batteries for the day . . . or the mission . . . ahead.
He ducked into the canvas enclosure on deck and poured himself a cup. Sipped.
Bliss.
He set the java down and flipped through the Herald. The whole family knew the cannon feature was supposed to be in this week’s edition, so why had Patrick texted him a reminder yesterday afternoon—and again last night—that it was out . . . and to pick up a copy ASAP?
Too bad he hadn’t checked his phone until it was too late to call or he could have asked him about the urgency.
Whatever the reason for his brother’s persistence, however, he now had the edition in hand. Since Sweet Dreams opened early and sold the paper, a quick stop en route to the dock hadn’t been a problem.
He paged through, eyebrows arching as he stopped at the center spread.
Wow.
The editor had given the story excellent coverage and primo placement. She’d used two of the photos Patrick had taken on the beach, as well as a few historic shots—including the one of Jedediah standing on deck beside the cannon.
No wonder his brother was excited.
And anything that got his mind off of—
Steven blinked. Stared at the byline on a piece headed simply, “No.”
Holly had contributed to the feature?
He scanned the write-up. Switched to the piece on the other side titled, “Yes.”
Two different citizens had voiced opinions about whether the cannon should occupy a place of honor in a public location—and Holly was in the negative camp.
His stomach bottomed out.
Given everything she’d shared with him, her opinion wasn’t a surprise—but it was one more reason to consider her off limits. Family had to come first. He needed to stand with Patrick on this—and that wouldn’t endear him to her.
He took another fortifying swig of the robust coffee and reread her short piece. It was articulate, to the point—and infused with her pro-life stance . . . especially the last paragraph.
I’m new to Hope Harbor, so I can’t speak about the town from a long-term perspective. But one of the things that drew me here was the upbeat vibe. A one-for-all sense of community, a caring spirit that filled me with optimism and made me feel safe and happy and excited about the future. No matter how historic, a cannon doesn’t embody those qualities. A weapon of war . . . of carnage and destruction and violence . . . seems more fitting for a battlefield than our lovely wharf pocket park—or any other public place in a town bearing the name hope. This is a community that should celebrate life, not death. I hope citizens take a long, hard look at what a cannon symbolizes before they install this one in such a peaceful spot.
Steven leaned back. This was the Holly he’d come to know—and it was consistent with everything she’d told him on Sunday.
But why hadn’t she mentioned her article? It didn’t—
He grabbed his phone as it vibrated against his hip. A last-minute cancellation, perhaps?
Given his sudden downshift in mood, that wouldn’t be a bad outcome—even if it left him a few hundred dollars poorer.
It wasn’t a customer’s name that flashed on his screen, however.
He put the cell to his ear, greeted his brother—and got straight to business. “Everything okay?” In general, only a family emergency would compel Patrick to call at this early hour.
“Yeah. Did you get my texts yesterday?”
“Yes. But my battery was low and I put my cell in the charger after I got back to the apartment. It was too late to call when I checked texts and messages.”
“Have you seen the Herald?”
No emergency—at least not of the family variety.
“I’m reading it as we speak.”
“Did you notice Holly’s piece?”
Hard not to.
“Uh-huh.”
His brother waited, as if hoping he’d offer more than that noncommittal answer—but he couldn’t talk about this new development until he digested it.
“I saw her late yesterday afternoon, about the lawn work at her house.” Another pause.
Fine. He’d ask the question Patrick was obviously expecting. “Did she mention the article?”
“I brought it up, actually. In case you’re wondering, she had no clue we owned the cannon when Marci asked her to write that piece.”
Somehow, that gave him a modicum of comfort. “She say anything else worth passing on?” He kept his tone neutral.
“No—but I got the feeling she was rattled by our connection to the story once she saw the printed feature. I can think of only one reason that would be the case.”
Steven folded up the paper and stuck it in a waterproof compartment.
His brother was fishing—and he didn’t intend to take the bait.
“There could be a bunch of reasons. Like . . . some of her fellow teachers may have cornered her to say they disagree with her position.”
“You and I both know that’s not the reason I’m talking about.”
Steven didn’t respond.
“Cindy thinks the two of you have potential.”
“She’s wrong.” He took another sip of his brew, but the spicy, citrusy flavor of the cardamom was suddenly too acidic on his tongue.
“You could do worse, from what I hear. Jonah raves about her, and Cindy said she’s heard nothing but positive comments. Not to mention she’s a looker.”
“You don’t have to sell me on her charms. But she’s not for me.” Or, more accurately, he wasn’t for her.
“How do you know?”
“Trust me on this. Did her neighbor hire you?”
A beat ticked by.
“In other words, a discussion about Holly is off limits.”
“Bingo.”
“That’s telling, you know.”
Steven frowned, suppressing a sudden surge of annoyance. “Practicing armchair psychology now, are we?”
“It doesn’t take a degree in psychology to detect clues in human behavior. The fact you don’t want to talk about this says you care about her.”
“Get real, Patrick. I met her less than a month ago.”
“I knew Cindy was the one after our first date.”
“Holly and I haven’t dated.” The impromptu lunch in the park and the chance meeting at Starfish Pier didn’t count, right? A date was a planned event—and none of their encounters had been premeditated.
“You could fix that.”
“Let it go, Patrick.”
“Listen . . . you might not want to write her off too fast. You may be able to work around the obstacles.”
Steven gritted his teeth. Patrick could be as tenacious as the pesky seagulls that hung around his boat, hoping to wrangle a few scraps. “So . . . did you get the job with her neighbor?” He enunciated each word.
His brother huffed out a breath. “How come you can help me, but I can’t help you?”
“I don’t need help.”
“Maybe you do, and you’re too close to the situation to see the obvious.”
Steven opened his mouth to respond. Shut it.
He’d offered Patrick that same assessment not long after he’d come to town, and his brother had blown him off, widening the rift between them.
It would be foolish to make the same mistake.
“I’ll take that comment under advisement. Did you get the job?”
After three silent seconds, Patrick let the subject go. “Yeah. I’m going to work on both yards later today, after my counseling session.”
“Glad to hear it. You holding up all right?”
