by Hope Ramsay
“It’s not your problem anymore. Daddy’s my problem now.”
Jude shook his head. “No. He’s my daddy, and I love him even though he’s a pain in the ass most of the time. I want him to get sober. I want him to be well. And I’m not walking away from him. Not ever. So I guess that makes him our problem.”
Micah’s mouth twitched. “Why am I not surprised? Old Granny used to say you were like a dog with a bone. You just don’t give up, do you?”
“I guess not,” Jude said, feeling a weight lifting from his shoulders. “Maybe that’s my most valuable intangible asset.”
Micah laughed out loud. “Maybe it is. But here’s the thing. You’re going to have to get used to having help. Colton’s going to try to do better too. And he agrees with me. You need to get out from under Daddy’s thumb. It’s okay to love the old guy, but it’s time for you to do what you want to do.”
Micah paused for a moment and sipped his coffee. “Which brings up the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What other thing?”
“Colton and I talked about this the other night when we heard about the town council’s decision on that zoning proposal you were behind. And we’re both agreed. We don’t want to sell Old Granny’s land either. There are about fifteen of us in the family who agree on that. We all own shares in that old place. So maybe we can figure out a way to get it fixed up and rent it out as a B and B or something. Maybe after we restore it, the state will rethink and agree to nominate it for the National Register of Historic Places.”
Jude didn’t know what to say. His brothers’ hearts were in the right place, but neither one of them had ever understood about the seagrass and the baskets. In fact, as kids, both of them had teased him for spending so much time with Old Granny working on learning that skill. But it was a start. And maybe there was a way to turn this into something more than just a family agreement about Old Granny’s place. Maybe they could turn this into a solution for everyone living north of Magnolia Harbor.
He looked up at his brother. He’d missed him so much over the years. If he could forgive Daddy, he should be able to forgive Micah too. “Um, I may not have said this before, but welcome home.”
Chapter Twenty
Jenna woke early on Thursday, spent extra time meditating, and then called the boat salvage people at the marina and got a price for refloating and refitting Reel Therapy. A quick text exchange with Milo and the consequences of her act of kindness were taken care of.
She did this without Jude’s blessing because the man had gone silent on her again. She’d left him half a dozen voice mail messages and had texted him like a stalker. And nothing.
Well, he’d find out what she’d done soon enough, and then he’d come storming in, complaining that he didn’t want to be rescued. And she would explain that this wasn’t a rescue but a restitution. A vain attempt to make sure she didn’t spend her next lifetime as a slug or something.
The e-mail from Milo’s associate arrived midmorning with a PDF file attached that contained almost a hundred pages of correspondence from Jamie Bauman to his father. She settled in to read them. Her father’s handwriting was bold and slanted backward, suggesting that he was left-handed. He wrote on lined paper with holes punched on one side and a ragged edge where he’d torn the page from a spiral notebook.
He had a beautiful way with words, his writing rich with metaphors and vivid descriptions of the Harvard campus and his very lonely life. He was not happy, but neither was he sad. At one point, he wrote to his father that the medications took his colorful world and turned it into black-and-white.
As she progressed through the letters, it became clear that Jamie’s father didn’t truly understand him. Jamie was desperately seeking a connection with Robert but evidently found Robert’s responses to his letters wanting in some way. Was it love he wanted, or attention, or just someone who could sympathize? Jamie’s mother had died in a private plane accident when he was only six. And her death may have left a mark on him. He seemed like a very lonely person.
Jenna also didn’t have Robert’s responses, of course. She was reading a one-sided conversation, which made it easy to paint Robert as the villain. But then, in the spring of his senior year, Jamie’s letters changed. The complaints about his medications disappeared, and the letters became manic, as if he’d finally decided not to listen to his father. As if he’d finally chosen to go off his meds.
And there was one other thing in the last line of the last letter home. I met a girl on Jonquil Island, he wrote to his father. She’s beautiful and fun. I took her to see the daffodils. She says they are her favorite flower. I know she’s just a tourist, Dad, but she’s from Boston and our apartments aren’t all that far away from each other. Her name is Theresa, he wrote to his father, and she’s changed everything.
On Thursday afternoon, Jude left the vicarage once his headache had receded. His first stop was Barrier Island Charters, where he got to work trying to salvage his boat, his business, and his future. But first he called Wayne Hubble Jr., Colton’s friend and lawyer. He told Junior he needed to talk about a way to organize the family’s shares in Old Granny’s land. Junior suggested that he come by the office later in the day.
After that Jude called all his customers, letting them know that charters were canceled for the foreseeable future. Then he printed out the company’s year-to-date financials before heading home, where he took a long shower and dressed up in his one business suit.
His temples were pounding again when he got to the Citibank office on Harbor Drive. Damn. He’d been hounding Daddy about having this conversation with their banker for years, so he was doubly aware of the stakes. And his position wasn’t nearly as strong as it might have been a week ago, when their main asset wasn’t sitting at the bottom of the bay. So maybe this was going to be one of those times when he failed.
And what had Jenna said about failure? That it was the best teacher around.
Bull. He didn’t want to fail. He couldn’t fail. He was not going to fail. He squared his shoulders and walked into the bank. He was ready for this.
But he wasn’t ready to find Onyeka Ochoa sitting behind the desk in the small office reserved for the commercial accounts manager.
“Jude, it’s so good to see you,” she said, standing and shaking his hand. “It’s been a while.”
Damn. He’d taken Onyeka to senior prom when he was seventeen. At one time, she’d been that girl who’d reminded him of Phylicia Rashad, his ideal of feminine beauty. Her name had been Onyeka Vargas then, and her Mexican daddy had been super intimidating on prom night when Jude had shown up with a corsage.
But her momma was one of Aunt Charlotte’s friends, and Charlotte had been trying all through high school to match them up. He’d thought Onyeka was beautiful, but he’d never truly loved her, which explained why they’d lost touch during college.
By the time they’d both returned, she’d gotten engaged to Ricky Ochoa. Charlotte sometimes talked about her as if she were the woman who got away. Onyeka had a bunch of kids now, if he remembered right.
“Hey,” he said, “I didn’t know you worked here. So, um, you’re the new commercial account manager?”
“I am,” she said, her smile widening.
Damn. He had to make his pitch to an old girlfriend? Life was truly unfair sometimes. On the other hand, Granddaddy’s head would have exploded if anyone had ever told him that one day the commercial accounts manager at the Citibank would be a female of Gullah and Mexican descent.
So maybe it wasn’t unfair at all.
He took a seat in her office cubby and started talking about his business. The numbers in his financial statements weren’t as good as they could be. But he explained all that. He also made a point to sell himself by talking about his intangible assets, such as his experience and knowledge of local conditions and fishing areas, and the fact that he had certifications in both motorized boats and sailboats. And then, because Onyeka seemed really
interested, he started talking about the sailboat for sale in Hilton Head and his ideas for a sailing charter, and he might even have thrown in Jenna’s suggestion for pirate adventure sails.
Onyeka stopped him right there. “Oh, that sounds like fun. And educational. And you wouldn’t have much competition.” She parroted all of Jenna’s thoughts back to him, and something in his chest expanded.
“And I’m related to Henri St. Pierre.”
“You are.”
After that they got down to business. She pulled out a bunch of sales brochures outlining various financing options, for both the boat and a business line of credit. With Reel Therapy damaged, he opted to take out a personal line of credit because the interest rate was lower. He’d had to use his share of Old Granny’s place as collateral, which just might tick off a few family members.
But he had a plan for that. So he did what he had to do to save the family business first. He wasn’t going to let Citibank get ahold of the family land. He had every intention of paying back the money he borrowed.
With his business at the bank concluded, he headed down to Boat-Tow. He was a little surprised when Gary, the head man there, seemed to think he’d already called for an estimate and approved the work. In fact, the Boat-Tow salvage team had gone out to refloat the boat earlier in the morning, and Reel Therapy was on her way back to the harbor.
Thank goodness he’d gotten that line of credit; otherwise he’d be red-faced trying to figure out how to pay for the salvage he hadn’t ordered.
He had time to kill before his meeting with Junior, so he hung around the Boat-Tow office until they brought the fishing boat in. And then, as if today were truly his lucky day, Gary gave him an estimate for the hull repair that was a whole lot less than he’d been anticipating.
Jenna spent most of the afternoon working on a business plan for her equity capital firm, her mind distracted by the things she’d read in her father’s letters. Should she show them to Patsy and Harry?
Maybe not. Maybe they would read them differently. Maybe they’d still blame Mom for Jamie’s death. Would they blame her too? Could she ever bridge the divide created by the tragedy of her father’s death?
She wasn’t even sure she knew where to begin. And yet the stakes were now impossibly high because she wanted to stay here. She wanted to make Jonquil Island her home. But would it be home if her family shunned her? Would it be home if Jude wanted nothing to do with her? Would it be home if Milo said no to her equity capital fund idea?
These thoughts filled her mind as she headed across the rose garden for the Piece Makers meeting that Patsy had invited her to attend at church on Sunday. Jenna didn’t plan to “come out” to Patsy tonight. But she hoped to lay some more groundwork for the moment when she did reveal her true identity. Maybe if she and Patsy could connect in a deeper way, a relationship with her and Harry could be built.
So high were the stakes that her heart thumped in her chest as she entered Howland House and made her way into the solarium. She was a little late, so the members of the quilting club had already assembled around the big quilting frame.
She stood in the threshold for a moment, waiting for someone to scold her, but instead, Patsy jumped up from her chair. “Oh, there you are. I thought, with all of yesterday’s excitement, you might have forgotten.”
“No. I’ve been looking forward to this. Have you heard from Jude? Is he okay? I texted him a couple of times, but…” She stopped speaking as the ladies around the quilt frame looked up at her in avid interest. Yikes. Was she a subject of gossip? Had anyone noticed that she and Jude had left the vicarage together last Monday? And, for goodness’ sake, they’d been seen sailing together in the harbor.
Wow.
“No, honey, I haven’t. But Harry said he saw the salvage crew from Boat-Tow hauling Reel Therapy in. So I’m sure he’s just really busy dealing with the boat repairs and insurance and whatnot.”
Jenna’s face heated as she stepped down into the room. Of course they assumed Jude had arranged for the salvage. But he hadn’t. So what was he doing? Had he gone off fishing with his old uncle, the one she’d met a few days ago? Or was he dealing with a lot of family drama? Or maybe it was a little of both. Whatever it was, he wasn’t interested in sharing it with Jenna—a fact that made her feel small and guilty.
She pushed those thoughts from her mind as she nodded to Sandra and Nancy, whom she’d met at church on Sunday. She also greeted Karen, who had been at the painting party at the vicarage. Karen and Sandra were sisters and looked it, despite the fact that one had allowed her hair to gray and the other had not.
Patsy also introduced Donna Cuthbert and Barbara Blackwood, another pair of aging sisters who, it was pointed out, were Methodists.
Once the introductions were made, Ashley hopped up from her place. “There’s hummingbird cake in the kitchen. Let me cut you a piece.”
Jenna had no idea what hummingbird cake was, but her stomach was so jumpy she couldn’t possibly eat anything. “It’s no bother, Ashley. I’m not hungry.”
“Really?” the stout woman wearing the tent-like shirt asked. Was that Donna or Barbara? Crap. Jenna couldn’t remember which was which. “Ashley’s hummingbird cake is divine. It’s exactly like the cake her grandmother used to bake.”
Ashley rolled her eyes as if she’d had enough of being compared to her grandmother. Jenna gave her a smile. “I’m sure it’s wonderful. Maybe later.”
“Come, sit by me,” Patsy said, patting an empty chair beside her. “So, you’ve never quilted before?”
Jenna shook her head. “To be honest, I’m not the most coordinated person when it comes to stuff like this.”
“So why did you want to learn?” This came from Karen, the blunt-speaking woman Jenna had met at the vicarage. Karen gave her a thunderous stare from under a pair of bushy gray eyebrows.
“Because I think what you do is beautiful,” Jenna said, hoping to disarm the grumpy woman.
Nancy, a woman with a soft voice, said, “It doesn’t take much coordination, honey.”
Patsy set to work giving Jenna the basics. It was straightforward, except for threading the needle. Quilting needles were incredibly tiny with even smaller eyes. Thankfully no one laughed at Jenna’s lame attempts to get the thread through the eye. It took her a good two minutes before she managed it.
“The main thing is to keep your stitches as even as you can. And shoot for six stitches to the inch if you can,” Patsy said, and then demonstrated.
Within minutes, Jenna was leaning forward over the pieced fabric, loading her needle up with stitches and pulling the thread through. “Well,” Patsy said, “you’re not as clumsy as you say you are.”
Jenna’s face heated. Patsy’s compliment meant a lot—more than she would have been willing to admit two weeks ago. But then, quilting was kind of Zen, like knitting or deep breathing. The repetitive motions cleared the mind or might have, if she hadn’t been sitting next to her great-aunt, longing to tell the truth.
Sandra broke the silence by asking, “Are y’all at all worried that Reverend St. Pierre’s sermons are too short?”
Beside her Patsy stopped quilting. “No,” she said in an authoritative voice, daring anyone to disagree with her. Patsy could be kind and gracious at times, but she had a dictatorial streak. No one challenged her.
Instead, soft-spoken Nancy at the end of the quilt frame changed the subject and said, “I see that you had the roof repaired, Ashley.”
“Replaced,” Ashley said.
Jenna looked up in time to see Ashley flush. Big mistake because she pricked her finger. “Ow.”
“You’ll get used to that,” Patsy remarked.
“Just don’t bleed on the quilt, please,” Barbara (or was it Donna?) said.
She studied her finger. No blood. Good.
“I’m so glad you’ve started renovating Howland House,” Nancy continued.
“Amen to that. And we’re sure it’s going to come out beautifully. None
of us believed you could fix up that old shack out back and turn it into a cottage,” Karen said.
Ashley’s blush deepened, but she concentrated on her needle work.
“So, what’s next?” Nancy asked.
A muscle ticked along Ashley’s jaw, and she dropped her needle and leaned back. “Ladies, I’m sorry, but I’m not renovating Howland House. I’m selling it.”
“What?” The Piece Makers spoke in near unison while Jenna’s chest tightened and her pulse soared. No, not again. But what had she expected? You couldn’t buy good karma. It just didn’t work that way. Maybe if she’d invested in Ashley, instead of simply giving her a new roof, it might have turned out better.
“You can’t move away,” Karen said. “Where would we—”
“I can. And I must. I can’t afford the house,” Ashley said in a shaky voice. “And honestly, whoever gave the money to Colton for the roof needs to tell me now. Because just as soon as I sell the house and pay off the mortgage, I will return your money.” She stared at Patsy when she said this.
“What are you talking about?” Patsy asked.
“I’m talking about the person sitting in this room who listened to Micah’s sermon on Sunday and got the crazy idea that I was some kind of act of selfless charity.” Her voice wavered, and tears filled her eyes. She pushed up from the quilt frame and hurried from the room.
Jenna sat there, her spirit sinking right into the pit of her uneasy stomach. Karma could be a bitch, but not always in the way people thought.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Patsy said, standing up and following Ashley. Patsy might have chased her up the stairs if Nancy hadn’t gotten up and blocked her way.
