Breakwater Bay

by Shelley Noble

  “Wait a minute,” Meri said. “We’re not floundering. We’re just having a little setback.”

  “Floundering,” said Doug from the doorway.

  “No luck?” he asked Carlyn.

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not giving up,” he said.

  “Of course not,” Meri and Carlyn said together.

  “Damn this economy.” Doug wandered off down the hall.

  “Is it really that bad?” Meri asked when she was sure he was out of hearing distance.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Oh.” Doug popped back in, making them both squeak.

  “What?” Carlyn practically yelled the question.

  “Krosky isn’t here today.”

  “What?” This time it was a full-blown screech.

  “Please don’t tell me we lost him, too?” Meri said.

  “He can’t quit,” Carlyn said. “At least . . . he didn’t say anything about it Friday night.”

  Meri’s eyebrows flew up.

  “He had to meet with his doctoral committee. He does have his own work.”

  “But he’s coming back?” Meri asked.

  “I sure as hell hope so. He’s strange, but damn he’s good.”

  They heard footsteps in the hall.

  “Gotta be the woodworkers. Later.”

  When Meri was sure he was gone, she turned on Carlyn. “Krosky? Friday night? Want to elaborate?”

  “You don’t know what you and Nora missed. Krosky showed up at the bar. Did you invite him?”

  “Sort of,” Meri said. “In a vague, someday way.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “Really or are you being sarcastic?”

  “Really. He’s phenomenal. We did some duets, then I just moved into your place and sang backup. The man’s something else.” She frowned. “Now if he’ll just come back to work.”

  “Yeah, well, he better come back. Speaking of which. I’d better get to work on my ceiling. While it’s still mine.”

  “And I’ll keep making cold calls till my fingers freeze.”

  Meri got a respirator, a hard hat, and several sets of thin latex gloves before retrieving her tool kit from her locker, then she mixed a fresh batch of vinegar solution. She unlocked a larger cabinet and checked out a digital camera. With the reduced staff they would all become experts in many fields by default.

  The hallway seemed particularly quiet today. The student interns were back in school and would only be coming in intermittently. Several of the staff had moved on to other projects. The ones who hadn’t were busy piecemealing work from various projects together and came in erratically. Now they’d lost their master carpenter.

  She’d better get as much work done as she could and keep her fingers crossed that Carlyn came up with a new source of funding.

  Meri made sure she documented every detail of the cleared ceiling. Unfortunately, some of the plaster had been loosened when the medallion fell, marring the design; still, enough of the pattern was left to fill in the rest.

  She had to take off her respirator to shoot a series of photos before she began to carefully clean around the medallion area, attempting not to dislodge any of the more fragile pieces. Then she took more photographs and switched to sample taking. The colors that had been protected by the central medallion were more vivid than the others and closer to the original.

  There had definitely been gilt, and some of it was still intact.

  It was tedious, eye-straining work. Every now and then she would step back from the process and just marvel at the difference between the treated and untreated areas. Slowly the old and grimy was replaced by the faded yet promising.

  And she knew if people just saw the possibilities, the money to finish the project would flow in.

  The house really had been a gem in its day. Not as large as the mansions along Bellevue, but filled with detail and subtle craftsmanship.

  What was left was a glimpse into another world, a different lifetime, and she couldn’t help but stop and think about the people who had walked the floors below. Did they ever stop and look up at the ornate ceiling? Run their hand along the oak stair banister? Sit in the parlor relaxing in the symmetry of the Owen Jones wallpaper?

  Or had Meri been breathing too many vinegar fumes?

  She laughed at herself. How many times did she notice her surroundings when she wasn’t working on a house. Though now that she thought about it she often did. At least when she was at home in her apartment or at Gran’s. Or at Alden’s where the darkness at night erased the walls around them, so different in the daylight, when the sun shot through the windows drenching everything it touched in gold . . .

  Definitely been breathing too many fumes.

  By five o’clock, Meri had cleaned only a few square feet, but hopefully she had enough documentation. Working alone could take her weeks or months to finish. They needed a professional cleaning service to come in, one trained in restoration work, but that would cost a fortune.

  Her back, arms, and neck were screaming with fatigue. Her mouth was dry. Even her fingers ached. She’d gotten soft in the days she’d been off. She climbed down the scaffolding, put away her equipment, and was headed to the kitchen for a bottle of water when she saw Carlyn bound down the back stairs like the Furies were after her.

  “He’s here.” Carlyn grabbed Meri’s elbow and pulled her to the back of the stairwell.

  “Who?”

  “Everett Simmons. I recognized him from the newspaper article. Doug has him upstairs showing him the potential of the building.” She grimaced. “Poor Doug, he doesn’t have a clue.”

  “Do you think it’s a coincidence?” Meri whispered, wondering if it would be too ridiculous to climb out a window and make her escape.

  They heard voices overhead.

  “They’re coming,” Carlyn said redundantly.

  “What should I do?”

  “Act normal.”

  Meri laughed, sounding awfully close to hysterics. What was normal when you’d just met your father four days ago? And had insulted him to boot? Then ran into him in your place of work?

  Carlyn dragged her back into the hall just as the two men came down the back stairs, chatting like they were old friends. Which was entirely possible in a town the size of Newport and the interest in restoration fairly widespread. This was something Meri hadn’t considered when she’d opened this can of worms.

  Carlyn held her in place, and they both stood smiling woodenly until the men reached them.

  “Meri,” Doug called. “I’ve just been showing Mr. Simmons around. I understand you two know each other.”

  Meri wouldn’t go as far as that.

  “I was hoping to catch you before you left work,” Simmons said in a perfectly cordial, natural way.

  “Ah,” Meri said, concentrating to keep her somewhat haphazard smile from slipping. She felt about as natural as the Tin Man meeting Dorothy.

  “I was hoping you might have time for a coffee.”

  Doug looked confused but hopeful. Carlyn just looked confused.

  Everett smiled reassuringly. “Nothing important. Though I do have some papers I thought you’d like to see. I was going to drop them off, but then Mr. Paxton and I got to talking.” He turned to Doug. “The place does have good bones.”

  Doug beamed, his dedication justified by an outsider—an outsider who had just asked Meri out for coffee. Meri saw the moment Doug realized he might have a potential donor. “We think so. Well, I won’t keep you. But thanks for taking a look at the Gilbert project.”

  “My pleasure. Nice to meet you.” Simmons turned his charming smile from Doug toward Carlyn and Meri.

  Carlyn also smiled, nodded, dragged Doug away.

  Simmons and Meri were left facing each other.

  “Sorry,” Simmons said. “You probably wish you’d never met me.”

  “No. I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for the way I acted the other day. I hadn’t really thought it thr
ough. And that’s not like me at all.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose finding out you have a father living in the same town as you happens very often.”

  She shook her head.

  “I thought maybe we could start again.”

  Meri tried to read his expression. She thought he must be kidding, plotting some kind of revenge. But his expression was tentative. Maybe a little hopeful?

  “I’m not sure . . .”

  “I discussed it with my wife, Inez, after you left the office. I told her I might have jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

  “You did. I don’t want anything from you.”

  “But I want something from you.”

  “My silence? No problem.”

  “No. Your forgiveness.”

  Alden returned to his hotel feeling grimy and sooty and fairly depressed. He’d spent the day looking at available apartments. So far Meri had been right. It was hard to find enough light in the Manhattan skyscape. At least for what he was willing to pay without having a contract on Corrigan House.

  Plus, did he really want to buy something? He’d seen a second-floor brownstone in Soho, a converted loft in Tribeca, a prewar two-bedroom on the Upper West Side. They were all nice, but only the prewar building had real light. There was a new high-rise building in Brooklyn, lots of windows, very high tech. He wanted light, but he didn’t want high tech. He didn’t want to live so high that people on the street looked like ants below him. And he knew that taking an elevator every time he wanted to walk outside would drive him nuts.

  He hadn’t realized how many times a day he did just that, walked the five feet from his drafting table to the back door, all glass, and stepped onto grass, with the stone beach and the sea two minutes away.

  Alden had always enjoyed coming to the city for work and spending a few days with people in the same field, having drinks, networking, some entertainment, a little pleasure . . . But now that he was looking at it as a full-time living situation, he wasn’t sure he could adapt.

  “You can do the reverse commute,” the agent told him. “City during the week, weekend and holidays in Newport. Or . . . I’ve got some wonderful places in the Hamptons.”

  Alden didn’t want a house in the Hamptons. He wasn’t sure he wanted an apartment in the city. The only thing he was sure of was that he couldn’t keep rattling around alone in Corrigan House.

  He stopped in the bar of his hotel and ordered a drink. He hadn’t called his agent or editor to say he was in town. He hadn’t called any of his friends. He hadn’t even called Paige, his “friend with benefits” as Nora would call her—if she knew about her. Which she wouldn’t—ever.

  Which reminded him. He needed to call Nora when she was alone and didn’t have to navigate the rough waters of home just to say hello.

  He texted her to call him when she had a chance. That was one nice thing about texting—it was faceless, emotionless, a bunch of abbreviations and symbols, modern hieroglyphs. A poor substitute for conversation, but excellent for code.

  He was finishing his drink when his cell rang. He signed for his drink and walked out into the lobby to take the call.

  He took a breath. Tried to feel cheery. “Hello?”

  “She’s sending us away for the summer.”

  His tenuous attempt to keep it light combusted. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s totally whacked. She says they’ve been planning this for months. It’s for smart kids. It will look good on our résumés. We’re not even going to the same damn camp. It’s like she wants to keep us apart.”

  “Shh. Getting all worked up doesn’t help me understand.”

  “What don’t you understand? She got pissed at me, and now she’s punishing both of us.”

  “What does Lucas say?”

  “What does Lucas ever say? Nothing.”

  And that was seriously concerning him. He was sure Nora would see her way through this, but Lucas held everything inside. If his daughter had inherited his imagination, his son had gotten the dark side of isolation.

  The kid was a brain, much smarter than Alden or Jennifer, but that kind of smart kept you alone if you didn’t find an outlet, someone or several someones to share it with. The fact that his son was accepting whatever was meted out to him without at least reacting, much less having an opinion about it, scared the crap out of Alden.

  He needed to talk with Luca’s and Nora. Make sure they were really okay.

  “Dad. Are you there?”

  “Yes. I was thinking. Maybe I should come to you. For a daytrip, or an afternoon even, with the both of you, you and Lucas.”

  “Like last time?”

  It had been a screaming disaster. Because the three of them were having so much fun they had lost track of time and been late for Lucas’s baseball game. They arrived in the second inning. Big deal. Lucas had called his coach to say he would be late. The coach was fine with it. Jennifer went ballistic.

  Lucas quit the team after that game. He’d walked up to his mother and handed her his glove, threw his arms around Alden, whispered, “Don’t go, Dad,” and clung to him until Jennifer yanked him away and marched him off to the car, Nora slouching behind. Mark and Alden exchanged looks, and then Mark went after them.

  Alden was left in the parking lot of the ballpark with a shattered memory of what had been a wonderful afternoon.

  “Well, what do you suggest?”

  “Let us come to your house. We can both go to school there.”

  “I don’t think Lucas would be happy with that arrangement.”

  “Yeah, he would. He doesn’t say anything, but I know he would. We can come now.”

  “Your mother will not allow it. We went through this.”

  “Then we won’t tell her.”

  “Nora. No. That’s not the way to accomplish things.”

  “Why not? Nothing else has worked.”

  “It just isn’t. Besides, now isn’t a good time.”

  Dead silence.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you,” he said quickly before she had time to misunderstand. “It’s just that I’m not there, but there are workmen there. They’re fixing a lot of things that are wrong with the house.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with it? Where are you?”

  “I’m in Manhattan. I’m . . .” He might as well tell her the truth. “I’m thinking about selling the house.”

  This time the silence was deafening.

  “I haven’t totally decided. I’m just looking at the options.”

  Still nothing.

  He shouldn’t have said anything. But she needed to get used to the idea. “It’s too big for me to keep up. It’s not fair to let it fall into ruin.”

  He paused to let her vent her opinion that it wasn’t fair to sell their home. She didn’t.

  Then he realized that she was crying.

  “Nora. Nora?”

  “Why?” she managed in a strained little voice. That child’s voice of disappointment that he remembered so well. She’d replaced it long ago with her surly teenage façade but it was still there, and it broke his heart.

  How did he tell his child that he was gradually disappearing, that he was drowning in his own solitude, that he no longer had a reason to stay? “I told you, I’m just looking at my options.”

  “What options?”

  “I thought I might move to Manhattan. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Bright lights, big city?”

  “What about Gran and Meri?”

  “There are plenty of people around who will look after Gran, and Meri doesn’t need me.” Anymore.

  “Because she’s marrying Peter?”

  “No, because—because she’s perfectly able to take care of herself. You’re acting like Manhattan is in Siberia, not a train ride away. People commute that far every day. Well, almost that far.”

  “You can’t. I won’t let you. I’m not going to any stupid camp for the summer, and I won’t let you sell our house.”

  “Nora.�
��

  She’d hung up. He called her back. She didn’t pick up. He texted her to call him back, they would discuss it.

  She didn’t answer.

  He texted again.

  He was being ignored. She was probably locked in her room, sobbing her heart out. With no comfort in sight. He was a despicable excuse for a father. He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and went back to the bar to wait for her to forgive him and call him back.

  I really had no idea,” Everett Simmons said as soon as the waiter at a nearby coffee bar had taken their order. “It was stupid of me. I knew they had done something to keep Riley away from me. I was white trash to them. My family were hardworking, working class, and that just wasn’t acceptable.

  “When they found out Riley and I were seeing each other, they hit the ceiling. Forbade her to see me, to have anything to do with me.

  “We sneaked around for a while, but I could tell it was stressing her out. Then she stopped coming to school. And then she just stopped sneaking out to see me, stopped calling me; her phone line went dead. I thought maybe they’d taken it away.

  “I went to the school office to try to find out what happened to her. They told me her parents had taken her out of school and were sending her to Europe to finish.

  “I couldn’t believe they would do that our senior year. So I went to see them, to try to explain to them that I had a future, to talk them into letting us see each other. There were only a few months left of high school. I had a scholarship to the university.

  “But they told me she was already gone. I wasn’t to bother them again. And threatened me with arrest if I tried to get in touch with her.

  “I never heard from her again, and neither did anyone else. In August I went off to college. Tried to forget her. Every time I talked to my parents, I asked about her. Then one day, my mother called. Riley had been in an accident in Europe and was dead. It was in the newspapers. She’d been buried over there.”

  Everett Simmons waited while the waiter put their drinks in front of them and asked if they’d like anything else. As soon as he was gone, Everett leaned forward.

  “I never questioned it. Are you sure that it was Riley who came to your house?”