At Wave's End: A Novel

by Patricia Perry Donovan

  “Hey, Faith. Where’s all that smoke coming from?”

  Startled, Faith turned to find Roxanne behind her in a slip of a nightgown, hugging herself against the crisp night that hinted at winter.

  “The beach, I think.”

  “As if everyone up there hasn’t been through enough already.”

  “Come inside. You’ll freeze. We’ll find out soon enough what’s going on.” Back in the second-floor hallway, Faith chose her words carefully. “Listen: I think we might have a situation with Gage. I need to show you something.”

  Mystified, Roxanne followed Faith to the railing.

  “There.” Faith pointed down at the couch where the teen now sprawled, snoring noisily. Hearing them, a kneeling Merrill held an ice pack up at them in greeting.

  “What the . . . ?” Roxanne dashed downstairs to the sofa, where she stared at her son. “I don’t get it. He was supposed to be at his dad’s,” she said when Faith caught up.

  “Looks like you have this covered.” Merrill handed Faith the ice, then slipped upstairs.

  Meanwhile, Roxanne had spotted the gash on her son’s cheek, and bent over for a closer look. “If that rat bastard laid a hand on him, I’ll kill him. First thing tomorrow, I’m calling a lawyer. If Mitch thinks he can do this, then he can just forget about shared cus—”

  “You might want to talk to Gage first.”

  “Why?” Roxanne’s wary eyes narrowed.

  “Because I saw Gage when he got home. And he seemed a little . . . messed up.”

  “I can see that. He might even need stitches. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “I was on my way to do that. But by messed up, I mean he was pretty—”

  Just then, Gage made his presence known with a strangled cough. Faith dove for the couch, yanking a throw rug out of harm’s way seconds before the boy rolled over and vomited mightily all over Maeve’s hardwood floor.

  44

  With the mortified Roxanne refusing all assistance, Faith finally left her and the dry-heaving Gage around one thirty and slipped into bed, leaving her door ajar in case Roxanne needed her.

  Not completely at ease beside her mother, it took Faith a while to fall asleep. When she did, she slept fitfully, caught up in a disturbing dream in which she found herself crammed in the back of a pickup truck with a pack of pregnant women, each in the throes of labor and tended to by Faith’s mother. As each woman delivered, Faith would ask the baby’s name, but the newborn’s cries drowned out their response. Agitated and desperate to escape, Faith pounded on the window of the cab to get the driver’s attention, but he ignored her banging. She woke up disoriented as dawn’s first diluted light streamed through the blinds and squinted at the clock: 5:40 a.m. Permitting herself five more minutes, she lay back down, crossing her arms beneath her head and replaying Gage’s dramatic homecoming, which ended with the boy as sick as a dog.

  Dog. Faith sat up, remembering a detail from the previous night. She’d only known Gage a few days, but in that brief time, he’d never been without that length of chain, his link to the missing Tucker. Even Roxanne had half joked she’d have to wean her son from the dog leash when school reopened, like separating a toddler from a security blanket.

  Last night, however, when the smoky and slurring Gage stumbled in, there had been no sign of Tucker’s leash. Maybe it was still at his father’s, or misplaced in the night’s confusion. Either way, Faith imagined that once the boy sobered up, the leash’s absence would upset him.

  Faith dressed quietly, then slipped downstairs before anyone else had stirred at the inn. In the kitchen, she set about frenetically peeling and slicing apples and pears for a breakfast compote. While the fruit simmered in a nutmeg and cinnamon bath, its scent a rejuvenating aromatherapy, Faith searched the fridge for last night’s leftover ham in preparation for breakfast fajitas. Oddly, the diced meat, along with some tomatoes she had chopped and the deli cheddar Connie had purchased the day before, had disappeared.

  David. He must have gotten in late and made himself a feast. Sure enough, she found broken eggshells, toast crusts and greasy napkins in the trash. Thanks to his thoughtlessness, everyone would have a little less to eat this morning, she thought, slamming the fridge shut.

  After pouring herself a second cup of coffee, she sat at the table, massaging the spot between her eyebrows where a headache threatened. David wasn’t the only self-centered person at the inn, she realized. Yes, her mother’s bombshell the previous day had unsettled her, but Faith had severely overreacted—especially with her ridiculous threat to return to New York. It would be impulsive and selfish for her to walk away. And to what? Piquant was no more; Faith had no maddening dinner rush in which to lose herself.

  She still needed some income in the meantime, however; maybe Ellie would consider subletting her room so she’d be off the hook for rent. Faith grabbed her phone and shot Ellie a text: Good morning, mama!!!!

  She hadn’t expected a response at this hour, but Ellie fired off an answer immediately: Miss you!!!!!!! punctuated by a chorus line of kiss-blowing emojis.

  Heartened, Faith hit speed dial, and Ellie answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, girl.” After her cheery text, Ellie’s voice sounded oddly flat, but Faith chalked it up to the early hour.

  “Hey! What’s going on? I miss you!”

  “Miss you, too.”

  There could be no mistaking her leaden tone. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

  “The baby’s fine. I’m feeling as big as a house; nothing fits. But otherwise, the pregnancy’s going super great.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  After a few seconds, she answered. “It’s Dennis and me. We’re having some issues.”

  With a little probing, Faith determined that Ellie had decided a few unanswered calls and some questionable behavior on her fiancé’s part added up to Dennis seeing someone on the side.

  “Dennis can’t possibly be cheating on you. He adores you.”

  “Then why won’t he answer when I call him at work?” Ellie asked. “This baby and I should be the most important thing in the world to him right now.”

  “And you are.” Faith paced around Maeve’s heirloom table. Ellie had been hard on boyfriends in the past, but pregnancy elevated her relationship insecurities to a whole new level.

  “And what about this: when I asked him to bring me Chinese food the other night, he said he couldn’t. He was probably out with her.”

  Faith could practically see Ellie’s lower lip jutting out. “Now you’re being silly. The poor guy has work in the morning. Unlike you, who can show up at your dad’s office whenever.”

  “That’s what Dennis said. He told me I’m selfish. As if I can control the crazy cravings his baby gives me.”

  Overhead, Faith heard the sounds of boarders stirring for breakfast: the flush of toilets, the tap-tap of Grace’s cane. She bit her lip, half agreeing with Dennis’s assessment and wishing she’d never reached out to Ellie. “You guys will work it out. Things are getting busy here, so I better go.”

  “But I need help with this.”

  “Ellie, right now I can’t even . . . You know, I called you this morning because I needed a shoulder for once. I’ve lost my job, I’m down here in this godforsaken town and yesterday my mother freaked me out so badly . . .” As she carried the carafe to the dining room, Faith spotted Grace making her way down the stairs and turned away so she couldn’t hear. “Believe it or not, Ellie, other people have actual problems. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  In the quiet that ensued on the line, Faith had time to double back to the kitchen, re-season the compote and ice an aluminum pan of yogurts. “Geeze, El, are you even there?” she snapped, wiping condensation from the pan with her apron.

  “Oh, I’m here. Thanks a lot, Faith. You make me sound like an unfeeling monster.”

  “This is so typical: instead of owning this, you turn it back on me. For crying out loud, the guy loves you,
Ellie. And if you throw that away now, you’re really, really stupid. I’m sorry, El, but I’ve got to go now.”

  Faith ended the call and picked up the compote, forcing her lips into a smile before reentering the dining room. There had been no sign yet of Merrill, but Grace waved from her table for two. Huddled at their own table were a tight-lipped Roxanne and a yawning Gage, still in his hooded sweatshirt from the night before. After setting down the fruit, Faith approached their table with coffee. Eyes on her son, Roxanne slid her mug toward Faith.

  “How’s everybody doing this morning?” Faith attempted her brightest tone.

  Gage grunted, then pushed back his chair and bolted out of the dining room.

  “Sick all night.” Roxanne sipped her coffee. “He’s pretty miserable, but I’m not inclined to show much sympathy until he comes clean about last night.”

  Faith slid into Gage’s vacated seat. “Did he tell you where he went?” she asked.

  “Nope. Not saying a word. Protecting some people, I’m sure.”

  “Did you check with his dad?”

  “He said Gage changed his mind and wanted to come back here and stay with me. Though why Mitch didn’t give me a heads-up . . .” Roxanne rested her chin in her hand. “Anyway, he swears he dropped Gage here around dinnertime.”

  “I never saw him.”

  “Of course you didn’t. He probably went right back out again.” Roxanne wiped her mouth with a napkin, her eyes dark with worry. “The question is, where did he go, and who else was with him? And worst of all, could Gage somehow have been involved with that?” Roxanne jerked her thumb in the general direction of the beach.

  “We don’t know that. What kind of crowd is he hanging with?”

  “We haven’t been here long enough for him to find a crowd. But with all the crap he’s been through since the storm, and the free time these kids have with school being closed . . .” Roxanne flattened her hands on the glass tabletop, her fingertips leaving faint impressions. “I don’t know what to do, Faith. I’ve got to find something to keep Gage busy. And out of trouble.”

  Faith patted her arm. “Try not to worry. I’m sure everything’s going to be fine.”

  “I hope so. That’s what David said, too.”

  “David? When did you even meet him?”

  “Last night. Or rather, early this morning. He came in after you went to bed. He took one look at Gage and figured out what was what. Helped me get him upstairs.”

  “That was nice,” Faith murmured.

  “Very sweet. He even made us omelets after.”

  “Really? For the two of you?” So David hadn’t been so self-serving after all.

  “Anyway, he’s a cool guy.” Roxanne’s fleeting smile faded as she stared past Faith in alarm. “But if you and David are right about things turning out okay, what’s he doing here?”

  45

  The Wave’s End police officer sauntered into the Mermaid’s Purse’s dining room, a clipboard in one hand and the inn’s copy of the Beacon in its plastic sleeve dangling from the other.

  “Stay here,” Faith instructed an ashen Roxanne, who gripped the edges of her table. At the same time, Connie crossed the dining room.

  “Can I help you, officer?” Connie asked.

  Faith joined them. “Good morning,” she said cautiously.

  “Sorry. Let myself in.” The policeman handed the newspaper to Faith. “I’m just alerting the neighborhood to some news.”

  “I hope it’s good.” Faith could feel Roxanne’s eyes boring into her back.

  “I would say it is, for the folks getting their power back shortly. We’ve got some out-of-state crews working on the lines around here over the next few days. Since they won’t be the usual trucks, we’re circulating pictures of their badges so you’ll recognize them.” He unclipped a sheet from his clipboard and handed it to Connie. “If you see anything funny, let us know right away.”

  “Funny how?” asked Connie.

  “Some scammers have been trying to pull fast ones with homeowners. Fake IDs and so forth, hoping to gain entry into their homes. But in this case, our workers don’t have to come inside to complete the repairs.”

  “Thank you. We’ll keep our eyes out.” Faith signaled Roxanne with the barest thumbs-up: the officer wasn’t here for Gage.

  The officer riffled through more papers on his clipboard. “Looks like you folks have priority for the work orders. Says here you’re part of the program the town is subsidizing to house these families. Nice thing you’re doing.”

  “We’re happy to help,” Connie said. “We’re so lucky we didn’t suffer any damage ourselves.”

  The officer glanced around the inn. “You should be thankful. Especially after that fire last night. Insult to injury, I’d say.”

  Just then, Merrill came down the stairs, halting at the sight of the officer and widening her eyes at Faith.

  “I thought I heard sirens last night,” Connie said. “Sounded like the Second Coming.”

  “Four-alarmer up at the beach,” said the officer. “Four houses at once. Went up like matchboxes.” He snapped his fingers.

  Queasy, Faith leaned against the wall. “What about the people inside?”

  “There were none, as far as we know. Places were empty. Good thing the wind had died down, or the fire might have spread. Those houses are crammed together like books on a shelf.”

  “How did it start?” Merrill asked.

  “Don’t know yet. We’re not ruling anything out. Even arson.” He tipped his hat. “Anyway, you folks have a good day.”

  As Connie walked the officer out the door, Faith unwrapped the newspaper. Images from the fire blanketed the Beacon’s front page: flames licking the skyline, huddles of blanket-wrapped neighbors watching firefighters battle the blaze, the charred shells of the burned-out homes. Bruce and his staff must have been working all night.

  “Do we know anything?” Merrill murmured.

  “Nope. Gage won’t talk.”

  “Is he under suspicion?”

  “Not as far as I know. But the investigation is only beginning.”

  “Oh, boy. Let’s just hope . . .” Shaking her head, Merrill glanced back at Roxanne. “Just let me know if you hear anything,” she finished, before breaking away to join Grace for breakfast.

  Faith was still engrossed in the newspaper when Gage trudged down the stairs in a clean shirt, still looking a little green but freshly showered at least, his hair waxed into its trademark bristle. Focused on his phone, he headed for the front door.

  “Hold on there, bud,” Roxanne called. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Out. There’s no school, remember?”

  “Did you forget you’re grounded for the next two weeks?” His mother strode toward him.

  “You can’t ground me in this place.” Gage glanced around the inn’s entrance with disdain. “There’s nothing to do.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. I’ve got a list of things to keep you busy until you decide to tell me the truth about last night.”

  “I told you everything. Anyway, Dad said I can go.” He thrust his phone at his mother, who took the device, her lips white-tight as she scrolled.

  “I doubt your father has heard the whole story,” she said finally. “I will fill him in. And in the meantime, I’ll hold on to this.” Roxanne pocketed her son’s phone.

  “You can’t take that.” Fury blotched Gage’s pallid cheeks.

  “I just did. You’ll get it back in two weeks.”

  “Two weeks? You’re ruining my life!”

  “You’re forgetting you have no life for the next fourteen days.” Hands on her hips, Roxanne looked her son up and down. “And where’s Tucker’s chain, by the way?”

  So Roxanne had noticed, Faith realized.

  Scowling, Gage took a step back. “Fine. Keep the phone. I don’t need it.” Before Roxanne could even respond, he bolted out the front door.

  46

  In pursuit of
her son, a distraught Roxanne brushed past Connie, who had just escorted the officer out.

  “What’s that all about?” Connie asked Faith.

  “I’m not sure, exactly. Roxanne’s got her hands full, that’s for sure.” Setting down the newspaper, Faith addressed her mother for the first time since the birth certificate episode.

  “Faith, I don’t know what to do—” Connie began.

  “Mom, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I need to say a couple of things.” Spotting David helping himself from the breakfast buffet, Faith ushered Connie into the salon for privacy. “First, I want to apologize about . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say the name “Audrey” aloud. “The birth certificate thing. About freaking out. I know that must have been a desperate time for you.”

  “But you don’t—”

  Faith held up her hand. “Also, I didn’t mean what I said about leaving. Of course I’ll stay for a while, the way I promised.”

  “I need to—”

  “Just one more thing, Mom.” She cleared her throat. “Can you help me to set some boundaries with the guests?”

  “Boundaries?” Connie’s forehead wrinkled.

  “Yes. Like asking before they take any food. I went to make breakfast this morning and my ingredients were gone.”

  “But—” Agitated, Connie attempted to break in once again, but Faith plodded on.

  “I know these are special circumstances, and we’re running things informally. But with a few guidelines, I can take care of the kitchen and keep everyone fed.” Faith folded her arms. “So, I guess that’s it. Thanks for hearing me out. Now, what did you want to say?”

  “Just that . . . I found this outside.” From behind her back, Connie produced a saffron sheet of paper and handed it to her daughter. “Someone tacked it by the door. I have no idea what it means.”

  “A flyer? You heard the officer. It’s probably just some scam,” Faith scoffed, taking the sheet. But as she read it, her breath caught:

  FORECLOSURE NOTICE:

  Notice of intent to terminate right of occupancy for nonpayment in 60 days.