Summer Catch (Four Seasons of Romance Book 1)

by Elle Viviani

  I laugh and let out my pent-up breath. Looks like I’ll live to see another day. I toss him the line before doing a loop around the boat, adding the other four lines to the pier. Gerry ties off the first one and moves on to the next, and soon I’ve lost sight of him.

  I jump onto the dock to tie off the aft starboard line when I hear a loud thump and a grunt. “Captain?” I call out.

  Nothing.

  “Captain Boothe?” I stand up and start around the pier for where I last saw him. “Are you alright…” The words die on my lips as I spot him. He’s collapsed on the dock, lying prone with one arm caught under him, the other splayed out at across the splintered planks. A rope is caught around his right foot, tangled in the bunched-up jeans spilling over his rubber boots.

  I run toward him, praying it’s just a fall until I see the blood gushing from a nasty wound on his head. I crouch down next to him and place my fingers gently on his neck. He’s got a pulse, but it’s weak. My calls for help are answered by the dockmaster, a deeply tanned, weathered man who looks a lot older than his age.

  I stand up and wave my arms over my head to get his attention as he trots down the pier, head swiveling side to side in search of the commotion. “Call 911!”

  He stops, nods, then makes a beeline for the little weathered shack that serves as the harbor office. I look back down at Captain, studying the arm pinned under his chest. It doesn’t look right. It looks…unnatural.

  I groan as indecision and panic mix inside me. I don’t remember everything from CPR, but I do know you shouldn’t move a person with a head injury. Yet even with that knowledge, I find it hard to resist the temptation. At least I can help with the bleeding.

  I wrench my shirt over my head, balling it up in my hands before lifting Captain’s head to place the shirt underneath. The fabric is drenched in seconds. I readjust, shaking out the shirt and folding the fabric again the other way. Again, the cloth comes back drenched.

  I lay the shirt on the wound under Captain’s head and stand back up, raking my eyes around the harbor for the dockmaster. He runs out of the shack a moment later, yelling that the police are on their way. Sure enough, the faint ring of sirens reaches my ears.

  It feels like an hour goes by before the EMTs and police are shoving me out of the way to get to Captain. I let myself be pushed back so they can reach him, answering the police’s questions as I watch one EMT address his head wound while the other runs his hands over his limbs, checking for broken bones and fractures. I try to answer the policeman’s questions, how it happened and how long ago, but I can’t tear my eyes away from what’s happening in front of me.

  The EMTs flank the old man and flip him over, easing him onto the stretcher and strapping his head in place. It’s then that I get a good look at his arm. Bile rises in my throat. It’s broken in at least one place. And how do I know?

  I can see the bone.

  The policeman nudges my arm. “Has anyone notified Jane?”

  I shake my head. Of course he'd know Jane. The Boothes are fixtures in Portland, everyone knows the great lobster fisherman and his kind wife.

  “Then I’ll notify her immediately,” he says, moving away.

  Jane. That name wakes me up out of my stupor. She’s going to kill me when she finds out what I let her crazed husband do. I could take Captain’s wrath any day, but Jane Boothe’s disappointment? That’s torture.

  “Where is he? Where’s my Gerry?”

  I cringe as the familiar voice reaches me. Here we go…

  I stand up and edge out of the waiting room to the front desk. Jane Boothe is so small that the pillar next to the desk completely hides her 5’3” frame until I’m standing next to her. “Grandma Jane. I can explain every—”

  “Koa! I’m so glad you’re here!” She turns and motions to the scared-looking nurse behind the desk. “This woman won’t let me see my husband.”

  I take in the nurse’s panicked expression with understanding eyes. Jane may be small, but she’s got one hell of a personality. It tends to overwhelm. “I was only trying to tell Mrs. Boothe that her husband’s arm is still being set by the doctor—”

  “I don’t care,” Jane interrupts. “I still want to see him!”

  I lay a hand on her arm. “Why don’t we sit down and have a cup of tea.”

  “I don’t want tea, I want—”

  “I could also explain what happened?”

  Jane blinks a few times as she tries to get her temper under control. “Alright.”

  The nurse gives me a grateful look as I lead us away from the desk. I grab two cups of Constant Comment before finding a quiet corner and handing her one. “First, I’m so sorry for what happened. I want to come clean with you…”

  Jane puts her cup down and stares at me. “Come clean?”

  I take a deep breath. “Yes. This is all my fault.”

  She smiles. “I sincerely doubt that, my dear.”

  “But if I’d argued a little bit more with him, or if I had tied off the boat like I always do, then—”

  “I know my husband, and no amount of arguing will ever get you anywhere.” She shakes her head. “This is one hundred percent Gerry. At least he may slow down a little now.”

  “True,” I say doubtfully. It was a nasty fall, but I can’t imagine Captain staying home willingly. He lives and breathes lobster fishing. It would take an army to ground that diehard seaman.

  Jane pats my forearm. “I see your doubt, Koa, but don’t worry. You don't stay married to a pigheaded man for fifty years without knowing how to handle him.” She gives me a wink. “So stop beating yourself about this.”

  I nod along for her sake, though I know my shame can’t be wished away.

  We turn as the nurse approaches. “Mr. Boothe can have visitors now. He’s in room ten through those double doors.” Though kindly meant, directions weren’t needed. We only get a few steps down the hallway before we hear Gerry's irate voice. He sounds sturdy and angry as an ox—not like a man who was unconscious and bleeding on a pier an hour ago.

  “…what station is this? I want my Wheel of Fortune, dammit! Give me the remote and…”

  We open the door to find Gerry waving his hand at the TV as a flustered nurse flips through the channels. His head is bandaged and his arm’s in a cast, but otherwise, he looks fine.

  He turns as the door shuts behind us. “Jane, dear!” he cries, throwing off the covers and trying to swing his legs to the floor. The nurse drops the remote and springs into action, gripping Gerry’s good arm to force him back into bed.

  “Gerroff!” he grunts, and starts fighting off her attempts.

  “But you just had your arm set,” she scolds.

  “I’m fine! Now, I want to properly greet my wife—”

  “Sit down, Gerry,” Jane snaps.

  He stops struggling. “Don’t be angry, dear.”

  “Well, I am.” Jane reaches his bed, plants a kiss on his forehead, and takes a seat by his bed. I stare on mutely. Just moments ago this woman was on the brink of hysterics and now she’s cool as a cucumber. “What I’m particularly angry at is your stubbornness. It got you into this debacle.”

  Captain mumbles something under his breath as he falls back onto the pillows. The nurse tucks him back in without a single protest.

  “You went against the recommendation of your first officer. How do you think Koa feels? You almost bled out in his arms!” Jane motions to me, jarring me out of my stunned silence.

  “Oh, it wasn’t exactly like that—” I stop as Jane gives me a sharp look.

  His eyes drop to his lap. “I’m sorry, Koa. I didn’t realize…”

  “It’s okay, sir,” I reply hastily.

  “Well, I know how you can make it up to him. While you’ll be undergoing bedrest, Koa will lead your fleet.”

  Captain and I stare at her as she sits there calmly, hands folded in her lap. She smiles back at us, then smooths out an invisible wrinkle in her slacks. I turn my attention to Captain, expec
ting him to object, to call her idea hogwash or some other justified response. But he doesn’t. To my surprise, he actually nods.

  “You’re right, my love,” he says softly. His eyes meet mine. “Koa, you’ve been an exemplary first mate these past few years. I can think of no one else I’d rather have leading the season than you. And if I’m forced to…” He glances at his wife and clears his throat. “I mean, if I’m enjoying my bedrest, then you should take my place.”

  I gape at him. “Captain—”

  “Not anymore,” he interrupts with a gruff smile. “Effectively immediately, you’re captain of Boothe Fisheries.”

  Leading? Captain? This isn’t how I pictured this meeting shaking out. I’d pictured me taking and accepting full blame for everything before resigning. I hadn’t expected to be promoted.

  Jane throws her husband a look. “Oh,” he adds quickly, “and the position comes with a ten thousand dollar pay raise.”

  I’m struck speechless. Ten thousand dollars might not sound like a lot of money to some, but it’s the world to me, and I know exactly what I’m going to do with it. This bump in pay means I’ll get back to my boat—the one I bought a few years ago at auction that’s rotting away in my workshop. The one I’m leaving Portland in to sail around the world.

  In a word, this raise means freedom.

  “You alright there, son?”

  “Yeah—I mean yes, sir. And thank you…” I meet Jane’s smile. “Both of you.”

  “Don’t let me down,” Captain warns, trying to sound stern despite the smile on his lips. “You may have earned this promotion, but it’ll be hard work. This is high season and we’ve got a demanding market.”

  I draw myself up. “Yes, sir. I won’t let you down.” We stare at each other for a moment, the air heavy with the weight he’s putting on my shoulders.

  Then he grunts and leans back on his pillows. “I know, I know… You’re a good kid.” He turns to the nurse and scowls. “Now what about my damn Wheel of Fortune!”

  3

  Summer

  “I’m so glad I caught you,” comes my mother’s polished voice. It always makes me stand a little straighter, like she’ll sense my slouched posture through the phone.

  I prepare my speech, steeling myself for the blowup that’s sure to follow. “I’m glad you called, actually, because I have a bone to pick with you.”

  “My dear, let’s try not to use unfortunate phrases such as those.”

  I grit my teeth. “Yes, Mother. I have…something I’d like to speak with you about.”

  “Much better.”

  “It’s about these blind dates. I’ve, um, decided that, uh—”

  “Think about what you’re going to say before you say it, Summer. You sound frazzled with all those um’s and uh’s.”

  “I know. But you see—” I stop and take a deep breath. “I went on another one of your setups tonight.”

  “Oh, that’s right! With Bernie’s son, Jeremy, I believe?”

  Jeremy? I think I preferred Rupert. “Yes.”

  “And how’d it go?” my mother asks, suddenly interested.

  “Awkward.”

  She sighs. “Sorry to hear that. I’m sure the next one will be easier.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I say quickly, trying to take back control of this runaway conversation. “I don’t want to—”

  “Summer, I’m sorry to interrupt…”

  That’s something people only say when they’re clearly not sorry.

  “…but this talk about dating will have to wait.”

  “I’d really prefer to talk about it now.”

  “This is important. I have news about your grandfather.”

  “Gramps?” All thoughts of my sorry love life are swept from my mind. I squeeze the phone in my hand as horrible images flash before my eyes. “What’s happened? Is he alright?”

  “Yes, yes, calm down. He’s fine now, but he’s had a nasty fall.”

  “Oh my God… Where?”

  “On the docks. He’s broken his arm in two places.”

  No. That can’t be true. He’s Gramps: indestructible, larger than life, tough as nails. He’s been a New England fisherman all his life, first in Rhode Island and now Maine. That’s hardcore fishing up there. It’s cold, real cold, and windy. Oh, and they get a ton of snow and ice.

  In summary: Maine equals Arctic tundra.

  “I don’t know what to do. This is high tourist season in Portland, and with him grounded, he won’t be able to meet the demand…” She sighs. “He’s very distraught, Summer. I think he’s depressed! I honestly don’t know what to do.”

  I stand there in stunned silence. My mother just said “I don’t know what to do.” Twice. That’s a world record.

  “And this must be very hard on Mother,” she says wearily. “My father isn’t the easiest to man to take care of, and this situation must be impossible to deal with.” My mom sounded concerned—actual, genuine concern. Another first.

  “Can someone go up there and help out?”

  “I wish, but we’re all swamped. Your father has a slew of surgeries scheduled in the next few months, and I don’t want Nora traveling in her condition.”

  I hold back my laugh. I love how people think a pregnant woman is made of glass. I’m pretty sure walking around the hectic, mobbed New York City streets is far more dangerous than hoping on a train.

  “I’m afraid that I can’t go, either,” my mother continues. “I’m planning your sister’s baby shower and decorating the nursery, as you know.” Yes, I know. I’m pretty sure everyone from my mother’s hairstylist to her doorman knows that my sister is expecting this fall. “And then there are the dinner parties I’m hosting this summer—oh! Which reminds me that you still haven’t confirmed your schedule.”

  I frown. “Why do you need to know right now?”

  “Because I have a few people in mind that I’d like you to meet.” Code for I have five new blind dates for your ass.

  Well, this ass is not playing along any longer. Besides, the most ingenious idea EVER just popped into my head. I take a deep breath. “You can put me down for a no, Mom.”

  “No?” my mother scoffs. “No” is definitely not a word many people tell Charlene Anna Rae.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “And why is that?” she snaps.

  “Because I’ll be helping Gran and Gramps all summer.”

  A long pause. “You will?”

  I grin into the phone, enjoying that I have the capacity to render my mom speechless. “You bet. You said no one’s able to go up there, but I’m free as a bird.”

  “What about your studies?”

  “I can study for my teacher’s exams anywhere.”

  “Even in Portland?” she asks, horrified.

  I roll my eyes. Manhattanites crack me up. “It’s Maine, Mother, not Nova Scotia. They have reliable internet up there.”

  “This won’t interfere with your work?”

  “Nope. School’s out for the summer and they don’t need any more teacher’s aides for summer school or camps this year.”

  “Well, I suppose…”

  I can hear my mother’s frown through the phone. “I’ll be fine, Mom. I haven’t visited Gran and Gramps in years, so it would be wonderful to see them. Besides, after my exams, I’ll be throwing myself at the mercy of the New York City school system. I might not have much free time for a nice long visit like this.”

  “True.” I wait as she considers my arguments. Apparently she can’t find any glaring holes in them…for once. “Okay. But do you realize what you’re getting yourself into?”

  “How so?”

  “It will be a lot of work helping your grandparents. You’ll need to go shopping for them and drive your grandfather to his doctor’s visits and entertain him while he’s under bedrest…” She trails off with a sigh. “It will be a very stressful summer for you.”

  I stare at the wall above my desk, trying to d
ecide if she’s serious. Playing cards with my grandparents? Chauffeuring Gramps around the streets of quiet Portland? Sounds like a cakewalk compared to a day in the life of a public school teacher’s aide. But then again, my mom is in a league of her own. She could redecorate your four-bedroom condo in one day like she was born for it, but take her outside of Manhattan, and she practically melts.

  “I think I can handle it,” I say as seriously as I can muster.

  “And you’ll be missing all my dinner parties! How will I introduce you to all the young men—uh, family friends that I’m inviting?”

  “There’s always another party,” I say diplomatically. Best to not let on exactly how excited I am to miss her blue-blood lineup. “I’m sure they’ll understand once you explain to them where I am.”

  I give her time to work through that carefully planted seed. Explaining to her guests that her youngest daughter is voluntarily spending her summer with her aging grandparents should send her friends’ heads reeling. They’ll create an “Upper East Side Mother of the Year” award for her. If it doesn’t already exist.

  “Hmm, true… Oh, alright, your father will book your ticket for you.”

  I pump my fist in the air. “Yes!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, I’m just glad I can help.”

  “Right,” my mother says slowly. Something in her voice tells me she’s seeing straight through my selfless offer. “As am I.”

  “I should probably go. Lots to pack, errands to run…”

  Silence. “Well, I’ll call Grandma and tell her the good news.”

  I skip through the living room with unbridled joy. Maine, here I come! Maine, here I—

  “But, Summer?”

  I grind to a stop. “Yes?”

  “Be sure to keep your fall schedule clear.”

  A knot grows in my stomach. “Why?”

  “I have a few gentlemen I’d like you to meet.”

  “But Mom—”

  “I’m sure you’ll humor me. No doubt you’ll be dying to get back into the social scene after three whole months in rural Maine.”

  “One more time: Portland is not rural.”