Breakwater Bay

by Shelley Noble

  And then there was Jennifer and Mark. They seemed more upset about having to go out of their way to drop her off than about her leaving. They didn’t even say good-bye, no hug, or see you, or have a nice time.

  A breeze ruffled the grasses behind him. Was that a happy marriage? Jennifer blew hot and cold. At least with him. And he couldn’t imagine her being any other way with Mark, though maybe he was wrong and they would live happily ever after.

  Better Mark than him.

  Jennifer would never allow Nora to stay. It was senseless to even propose the idea. She’d say just the opposite of what she thought he wanted. Nora wouldn’t even come into the equation.

  Best to forget the whole thing. But he wouldn’t tell Nora yet. Let her enjoy her time here while she could. He chuckled. She’d brought chicken soup home yesterday afternoon. Therese had shown her how to make it. Nora was so happy. Over soup, for crissakes.

  Why on earth had they sent her to a math school?

  Another breeze, this time more forceful. It would be a blustery day. A challenging day for a sail. Crazy. Until Sunday he hadn’t taken the boat out once since last July. Most of that time had been winter, but he never sailed anymore, only when the kids were here.

  Alden stood, retrieved his mug from the boulder, and trudged up the beach toward home. He needed to work, but he needed to think of something entertaining to do with Nora. His mind drew a blank.

  He’d gotten too used to living alone.

  Chapter 17

  Meri awoke not nearly so sure about contacting Everett Simmons as she’d been the night before. She decided to postpone her decision until after she had talked with Carlyn.

  She spent a long time in the shower, now that she could get her hand wet. And to be honest, she went off on a tangent imagining what it would be like meeting her maybe father. As soon as she was dressed, she threw a couple of waffles in the toaster and ate them as she walked to her car.

  Meri arrived at work early, but Carlyn’s car was already in the lot.

  “Do you ever go home?” Meri asked when she found Carlyn hunched over the computer screen in her office.

  “Yeah, but I’m working overtime to make sure we all still have jobs after this week.”

  “This week? We’re really that low on funds?”

  “I exaggerate somewhat, but if the plumbers come in over budget, which they invariably do, we’ll be that low soon.”

  “Then I guess we’d better work faster. Spending a day with Krosky tracing the wallpaper pattern made me think I’d better take a tracing of the ceiling pattern on the outside chance the whole thing falls down.”

  “Not a bad idea, but Doug will probably send Joe Krosky up to do the tracing.”

  “It’s my ceiling.”

  Carlyn laughed. “Morning, Joe.”

  Meri looked over her shoulder. Joe Krosky stood in the doorway. They hadn’t heard him come in.

  “Where is Doug sending Joe Krosky?” he asked.

  “Up to trace Meri’s ceiling.”

  “Not this Joe Krosky,” Joe said. “This Joe Krosky doesn’t do heights except in emergencies.”

  Surprised, Meri said, “No problem, I’m not ceding my territory yet. Oh, Carlyn, I forgot to tell you, Joe sings karaoke with the microbiologists.”

  She wasn’t disappointed with the effect her statement made.

  Carlyn’s eyes widened then narrowed into slits. “Really,” she said incredulously. “I didn’t realize microbiologists were that wild and crazy.”

  “Oh, we have some botanists and geneticists who can hold their own.”

  “Fascinating,” Carlyn said.

  “That’s me. Better get to work.” Joe bounced off down the hall.

  “That is one weird dude,” Carlyn said after he left.

  “At least unexpectedly interesting. And kind of cute.” Meri sat down. “I spent a whole day sitting next to him; he wouldn’t talk for an hour or so then commented on the last thing we had been talking about. It took hours to do one conversation.”

  “Really weird,” Carlyn said.

  “With great powers of concentration.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “About Joe Krosky?”

  “No. I spent some time last night reading about Everett Simmons. I think I’d like to meet him. Just ask him questions about Riley, not hit him with ‘Nice to meet you and by the way, you’re my father.’ Just . . . I don’t know, see him up close, ask what he remembers about Riley. If anything.”

  “Great. Do it.”

  “How? Should I just call his office? I don’t think I should call him at home; that could get dicey. And I don’t want to waylay him on the street, because that doesn’t seem fair. Maybe it isn’t fair to contact him at all. It was so long ago and won’t change anything.”

  “No, but he has a right to know if he does turn out to be your father.”

  Meri sat down. “Why? Wouldn’t it be better for his life to just go on as it has been?”

  Carlyn rolled her desk chair around to Meri’s side of the desk. “That’s all fine and good, except that your life won’t go on like before. I think you should meet with him. You can decide then how much you want to tell him.”

  “So then what would be my reason for going? ‘I found this picture of you in my mother’s keepsake box and wondered why’? He’d probably have a coronary. Or ‘I have some questions about Riley Rochfort’? If he looks blank, I’ll thank him and go on my way. If he doesn’t . . . I’ll wing it?”

  “Make an appointment.”

  “I thought of that, but for what purpose? I can’t tell the secretary the real reason.”

  “Just say that you want a consultation. You don’t have to say more.”

  In the end, that’s just what Meri did—called Everett Simmons’s office and set up a consultation for Thursday morning at ten o’clock. “I didn’t think Doug would mind me coming in late,” she told Carlyn.

  “Not at all, and I’ll have lunch waiting so you can tell me all about it.”

  Alden looked up from the drawing he was working on. Nora was standing in the doorway wearing the smallest bikini he’d seen in years.

  “I’m going to lie out.”

  “It’s April.”

  “Want to come?”

  He thought she’d make it all of five minutes before she came running inside for hot chocolate, but knowing Nora she’d sit out until her lips turned blue just to prove she could do it.

  “I was thinking about riding into town for some grinders for lunch.” Then he made a concession. “We could have a picnic.”

  “On the bluffs?”

  “If you want.”

  “Cool, I’ll go with you. Just let me throw some jeans over my suit.” She twirled around and ended in her version of a model’s pose. “Like it?”

  Alden quelled the temptation to tell her to take it off, that she was too young to wear something like that. She’d never be old enough to wear something like that. He tilted his head. “Nice color.”

  She grinned. “I love you, Daddy.” And she trotted up the stairs to change.

  Crisis averted. One thing you could say about his daughter, she kept him on his toes. And, damn, he missed that.

  They drove to Vanelli’s, where they ordered two huge grinders, potato salad, macaroni salad, fat pickles, potato chips, and water and iced tea and drove back toward home. Alden turned off the main road before they got to their own turnoff and bumped down a rutted car path through a copse of birch trees to their favorite picnic site.

  They’d found it one summer while hiking—Lucas, Nora, and him. They’d walked down the path past the trees and into a field of high beach grass. To their left was an abandoned farm. The shake siding was weathered a dark brown, the structures either leaning or completely fallen and the weeds climbing almost to the top of the gaping doorways.

  Lucas wanted to explore, but they convinced him that it was best to leave history alone. So they kept walking, just
as Alden and Nora were driving today.

  Nora was staring out the window, her head swiveling one way and the other trying to take it all in. What was she remembering? The good times? How much of the bad had become a permanent memory with his children?

  He hated the thought of their childhood being scarred by some of the fights they had witnessed. What had he and Jennifer been thinking?

  They hadn’t been. Both were so furious at each other that nothing else mattered. She had expected wealth and a mansion. She felt betrayed and lied to. He’d expected someone who would love the land as much as he had, who would be proud to carry on the Corrigan name, who would love her husband and her children.

  They’d both failed miserably.

  “Stop here,” Nora said.

  Alden pulled the car off to the side, not that anyone else ever drove down this path. But he knew what she wanted.

  “Come on, get out.” She pushed the door open and ran around to grab his hand before he’d stood up. And she dragged him running through the knee-high grass to the edge of the bluff where they stopped and looked out to the sea, sparkling with light and life. The wind blew free, lifting their hair and ruffling their clothes, and he felt his daughter exultant beside him.

  She hadn’t lost her sense of wonder, as he had feared. Beneath the makeup and the bikinis and the air of jadedness was a little girl, no, a young woman just as ready to embrace the world as she had always been.

  And it made him feel pretty damn exultant himself.

  “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

  Alden laughed. Damn, he felt good. They raced back to the car, pulled out a blanket, and the deli bag and took them back to the edge of the bluff. Nora spread the blanket out over the grass and then took the bag from Alden.

  She began arranging the food and drinks, which kept falling over on the uneven spread.

  Alden sat down beside her and they ate and drank as they looked out to the sea. When they had stuffed themselves and the remains of their picnic were returned to the bag, Nora flopped on her back.

  “Remember when we used to look at the clouds and find shapes in them?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We’ve never done that once since we left.”

  Alden’s bubble of contentment burst in that one heart-pounding sentence. He raised up on his elbow and looked down at his daughter. “I’m sorry.”

  She turned her head to look up at him. “It’s not your fault.”

  “A lot of it was. I don’t want you to think that families can’t be happy together.”

  “Can they?”

  He hesitated, choosing his words. “Yes. Your mother and I just weren’t very good at it. She and Mark must be happy?”

  Nora snorted. “I guess. On the outside anyway. But, God, they’re dull.”

  Alden bit back a laugh.

  “When was the last time you went out on a date?”

  The urge to laugh died a serious death. “Where did that come from?”

  Nora sat up and crossed her legs. “Mom’s had two, soon to be three, kids since she left. You don’t even have a girlfriend.” She cocked her head.

  He cocked his head back at her. Father and daughter.

  “Do you?”

  “I do okay.”

  “Gran says you’re in your prime, but, Dad, you’re not getting any younger.”

  “You’ve been talking to Gran about my girlfriendless state?”

  “Not exactly. I want to stay here, but I don’t want to cramp your style. Only, Dad, you don’t seem to have any style at all.”

  He grinned. “Want to take me shopping?”

  She huffed out a sigh that made her lips vibrate. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant. And I appreciate your concern.” And your being here wouldn’t cramp my style at all. “But I do go on dates occasionally.”

  “Do you think you’ll get married again? I mean, it’s okay if you do . . . As long as she’s nice.”

  Alden lay back down, closed his eyes. “I don’t know, Nora. But you’ll be the first to know if I decide to. Promise.”

  The next two days passed at a snail’s pace even though Meri worked late, cleaned her apartment, did more grocery shopping, and spent a long evening saying good-bye to Peter.

  When she least expected it, nerves would bubble up and she’d question for the hundredth time if she was doing the right thing by meeting with Everett Simmons.

  Carlyn was the only person who knew her intentions. She was afraid her family might be hurt if she told them she was going to talk to her possible birth father. They would understand the need, but that made it even worse. And she couldn’t tell Gran. She’d worry. And Alden . . . She had no idea what Alden would say.

  No, that wasn’t true. He would say be thankful for what she had and leave the rest alone. She was thankful, more than he or anyone knew. But still she had this niggling desire just to know. The same way that she had to find out what was beneath the next layer of paint or plaster. Now that she knew there was more to her story, she had to find that out too.

  And then she would leave it alone.

  At three minutes to ten on Thursday, Meri arrived outside the Federal-style building that housed the law office of Everett Simmons. She’d dressed in a basic navy blue dress and jacket. It was an outfit that she wore to meetings, not that she attended many.

  Her neglected pumps chafed against her heels as she walked around the house from the parking lot, but she welcomed the annoyance. It kept her mind from dwelling too much about the outcome of her next fifteen minutes.

  Simmons’s office shared the first floor with an optometrist. She hesitated in the foyer, then turned the knob and walked in.

  Meri gave her name to a very put-together receptionist, who looked middle aged and slightly severe. That did nothing to calm the jitters that were dancing in Meri’s stomach and up and down her arms and legs.

  Half of her wanted to just say, sorry, there’d been a mistake, and run the hell away. But when she was told to sit, that Mr. Simmons was with a client and he would see her in a few minutes, she did.

  Even though she was expecting it, had steeled herself for that initial meeting, she jumped when the door opened and Everett Simmons showed his client out. He was a nice-looking guy, tall, fairly slim, with chiseled features. His hair was salt and pepper now, but he was exactly what the boy in the picture would look like at fifty.

  “Ms. Hollis?”

  Meri stood and forced a smile. He glanced at her injured hand and then he motioned her into his office.

  “Take a seat.”

  She did, willing her breath to stay even, for her hands not to shake. She was facing her father . . . Maybe.

  “Now how can I help you?”

  “I . . .” She couldn’t seem to get her prepared sentence out.

  “No reason to feel uncomfortable.” Simmons smiled, a smile meant to convey reassurance. Her father’s smile?

  “I came because—” She fumbled in her bag even though she’d placed the envelope with Riley and his photo on top.

  He waited patiently until she managed to slide the photo out. “I was going through some of my mother’s things a while ago and found this photo.” She heard her voice start to thin and she stopped to take a breath.

  “I was wondering if you were the boy in this picture.” She said it more like a statement. She thrust the photo across the desk.

  He looked at her before taking it. Sizing her up? Finally he looked down at the photo. Picked it up. Frowned at it.

  Then slowly, slowly he looked up and their eyes met. “What’s this about?”

  “My mother knew . . .” She tried to swallow. “Riley. I was just trying—I wanted to know—if you were the boy—well, I know you were. I looked you up.”

  He let her stumble along; maybe he wasn’t even hearing her, because he was staring at the photograph. She couldn’t see his expression.

  He looked up suddenly. “Who did you say your mother was?�
�

  If you only knew. “Laura Calder, she was then.”

  He shook his head slightly. “Laura Calder. I don’t recall that name. Was she a friend of Riley’s?” A small hesitation before he pronounced Riley’s name.

  And that’s when Meri finally saw the pictures on top of the bookcase and on the filing cabinets. Family pictures. Wife, several children, all teenagers or older now. He’d gotten on with his life. Well, of course he had. Riley was dead. Did he even know? Or care?

  He cleared his throat as if it hurt. “Riley died when she was seventeen. On a trip to Europe.”

  Meri heard his words, and she heard something else. Regret? Doubt?

  Meri kept still. She was used to working with volatile materials, but this was the most fragile moment she’d ever held responsibility for.

  She opened her mouth, had to clear her throat. “And this is Riley Rochfort in the photo?”

  He nodded.

  He looked so sad that Meri began to regret coming here. Did she really need to open all this old history? Too late for changing your mind now. Whatever came next, she would have to accept it.

  “And it’s you?”

  Simmons let out a long slow breath. “Where did you get this?”

  He didn’t sound suspicious, just bemused.

  “It was in a box of things my mother . . . Laura . . . left me, along with her, Laura’s, diary.”

  “How did your mother get this?” He templed his fingers, his cross-examination mode, she guessed. It gave him a psychological edge. Meri supposed he deserved it. This was all new to him. She’d had a few days to let it settle in.

  “From Riley’s backpack.”

  “A blue one?”

  Meri thought back. “I don’t think the color was mentioned, but it had her school ID, this picture, a change of clothes, and a book of mythology.”

  An exclamation, quickly swallowed.

  “But she didn’t find it until after Riley was gone.”

  “To Europe?”

  “If this really is Riley, she never went to Europe.”

  His face went slack. “Just a minute.” He reached for the telephone. “Paula, hold my calls. What appointment do I have next? See if you can postpone him until tomorrow or next week. No, I do not want to be disturbed.” He didn’t wait for an answer but hung up.