At Wave's End: A Novel

by Patricia Perry Donovan

  “I’ll give Gage the good news his vacation is about to end.”

  Bruce chuckled. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. That’s not why I’m calling, though. Remember that information you wanted?”

  Faith gulped, knowing he meant her question about the fire. “What did you find out?”

  “The investigation is still ongoing. However, they did release some preliminary findings in the hopes someone will come forward with more information. The paper’s already gone to press, but I wanted to give you a heads-up before you see tomorrow’s story.”

  “A heads-up about what?”

  “They found something in one of the houses the owner couldn’t identify as his.”

  Bracing herself, Faith hunched her shoulders and scrunched her eyes shut. “What was it?”

  “A length of metal chain. Seemed to think it might be a dog leash.”

  60

  Faith headed inside, torn between telling Roxanne what she had just learned, or simply letting her read it herself in the paper. It’s none of your business, she reminded herself. But having witnessed Gage drunk and incoherent that evening, she felt a duty to prepare the teen’s mother.

  And so, the night before the leash’s discovery would be made public, Faith knocked on Roxanne’s door, and, finding her alone, repeated what Bruce had told her. After their conversation, Faith sat on the steps, straining to listen to the fallout from her disclosure: Roxanne calling her son upstairs and grilling him within an inch of his life.

  “I wasn’t there. I promise,” Gage swore over and over.

  “Then how did Tucker’s leash end up in that house?”

  “How do you know it’s Tucker’s leash? Was he the only dog in Wave’s End? Did it have his dog prints on it?”

  “Don’t be smart with me. I haven’t seen that leash since that night. Can you tell me where it is?”

  “I told you. I lost it.”

  “How could you lose it? You never let it out of your sight.”

  “Well, I guess I did, didn’t I?”

  Trying another tack, Roxanne softened her voice. “If you tell me the truth, we can go to the police now, before things get out of hand, and explain that it was all a misunderstanding.”

  “Four houses burned down, Mom. Like they might see that as a misunderstanding.”

  Faith flinched at the one-two slam of upstairs doors as Gage left his mother’s bedroom for his.

  61

  The weather in Wave’s End turned cold and blustery almost overnight, glazing the leaf blanket on the back lawn with frost. Faith shivered in sweatpants and an old barn jacket of Maeve’s as she slipped outside at sunrise on Thanksgiving morning for a moment to herself.

  Despite her covert strategy to rescue The Mermaid’s Purse, executed via numerous phone calls and strategy sessions with Ellie’s New York–based creative team, guilt still consumed Faith over keeping the inn’s fate from their guests. It would require some strong acting today to keep the charade going.

  She breathed deeply, savoring the tang of extinguished hearths peppering the air like the lingering aroma of a delicious meal. When the screen door banged behind her, she jumped.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” murmured a soft female voice.

  As Grace began to make her way outside, Faith hurried to hold the door. “You should be inside. It’s chilly.”

  “I don’t care. This is my favorite time of day.” Joining Faith at the porch rail, Grace pulled her fleece tight around her. “In my line of work, I’d often just be getting home at this hour. Babies can’t tell time, you know.”

  Faith chuckled. “Neither could some of the diners in my restaurant. They’d sit there into the wee hours, not caring whether we had a life to go home to. Anyway, what a lovely way to start the day, bringing a baby into the world.”

  “Nothing better. You know, I had an offer once to work nine to five for an OB-GYN doing prenatal care. The thought of finally having my nights to myself after all those years was very tempting. But I couldn’t bring myself to abandon those mothers who needed me.”

  “Did you ever regret your decision?” Faith asked.

  “Not for a second. Those newborns’ cries are music to my ears.”

  Faith slapped the porch rail. “Speaking of crying, that’s what the guests will be doing if I don’t get breakfast going. Shall I put some oatmeal on for you?”

  “Not quite yet.” Grace stifled a cough. “I’ll come in in a sec.”

  Concerned, Faith slipped off Maeve’s jacket and draped it over Grace. “Okay, but not too long. I’ll let Merrill know you’re out here.”

  “She really likes you, you know. And don’t think I don’t know about your little fireside chats.” Feigning disapproval, Grace wagged an accusatory finger at Faith.

  “Spying on us, are you?” Faith teased. But Grace had it right. Having bonded the night of Gage’s troubling homecoming, Faith and Merrill had taken to sharing a glass of wine most evenings. Poor Ellie tried once or twice to stay up and chat with them, but bowed out yawning.

  Faith hadn’t expected to make new friends at The Mermaid’s Purse, but getting to know Merrill had been an unexpected perk. “Your sister’s great. We’ve just about decimated all of Maeve’s wine, though,” Faith laughed.

  “I’d say you’ve earned it, seeing as how you’ve filled in for her. Anyway, I’m happy Merrill has someone to talk to,” said Grace. “That’s one of the things I’m thankful for today.”

  Faith swallowed. If this woman in the grips of a serious illness could find a way to be grateful, certainly she could set aside her own melancholy for a single day. “Me, too. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  The two women smiled at each other a moment, then fell quiet. Faith had decided to head inside when she spotted movement through the kitchen window. Sure enough, a second later, David and a yawning Gage joined them.

  “Where are you boys off to so early?” Brushing flyaway hair from her face, Faith wished she’d at least cleaned her teeth before coming downstairs.

  “Beach. Paddle out.” Gage clomped loudly down the porch stairs on his way to David’s jeep.

  “Does Roxanne know?” Faith asked. Shut up! Not your business!

  “She does,” said David. “We’re surfing now, then holding a Thanksgiving memorial for all the storm survivors,” he explained. “Gotta go. Conditions are perfect.” He scooped an armload of wetsuits from a side porch rail and caught up to the teen in the driveway.

  “Don’t you want breakfast first?” Faith called.

  “Can’t. Waves wait for no man.”

  “Or woman.” The back door opened again, and Roxanne appeared, shrugging at Faith before making a dash for the car. “Don’t worry,” she called from the front seat. “We’ll be back in plenty of time to help with the big feast.”

  Only vaguely aware of Grace’s warm hand on hers, Faith gaped at the departing group. Not only had mother and son put aside their issues for the day, but Roxanne apparently had relented on Gage’s grounding. Maybe it wasn’t considered punishment if Mom came along?

  With a tap of his horn, David skidded out of the stone driveway, surfboards jutting from the 4x4 like shark fins, Gage’s fist raised triumphantly over his head, Roxanne turning to wave.

  62

  “He’s just being kind to Roxanne.” Grace squeezed Faith’s arm. “And to the boy. I imagine this is a hard time for Gage, what with his parents splitting up, and then the storm.” Grace’s consoling tone made Faith feel like one of the midwife’s laboring mothers.

  “Of course. They’ll have a blast,” Faith managed before bolting into the house. Grace had clearly misunderstood her reaction; Faith merely had been taken aback by Roxanne’s participation. But in retrospect, the mother’s presence made sense. After her son’s recent missteps, how could she bear to let Gage out of her sight? And the way Roxanne had been keeping herself holed up, the outing would be good for her. Perhaps she and David had even hatched a plan to get Gage to spill his guts.

  Davi
d. Faith shoved a tray of sticky buns into the oven. Why on earth would Grace the baby whisperer think his exclusive early-morning surfing outing would bother her? If Grace thought Faith had expected a hand from David, she would remind her that she could easily pull off a lovely Thanksgiving celebration without any assistance from anyone—least of all a third-rate cook who toted his supplies around in a paper bag like a kid clutching a sack of candy.

  After all, David was only doing what Faith had asked: teaching Gage how to surf.

  Mollified, Faith cracked a dozen eggs into a cast-iron skillet for a frittata. But as the sticky buns scented the downstairs a buttery cinnamon, the aroma triggered a wave of melancholy so strong it thickened Faith’s throat. She had never been sentimental about the holidays, so why this sudden surge of emotion? Growing up, it had only ever been her and Connie at the table to celebrate, Faith recalled as she filled pitchers with juice and milk for the breakfast bar. Connie’s sticky buns stood out as one of the few Sterling traditions. Or had that custom commenced at a Hennessey holiday, her father partaking in the cloyingly sweet treats as well? Faith blinked away the unexpected sting behind her eyelids.

  Not that mother and daughter had celebrated many holidays recently. Faith’s chosen métier demanded her presence on every holiday. On these überdemanding occasions, customers pumped up on artificial cheer and family drama consumed and spent a great deal more than normal, to Faith’s employers’ delight.

  But being a member of the Mermaid’s Purse household made this Thanksgiving a very different holiday, Faith realized, slipping triangles of toast into Maeve’s silver bread caddies. In the few short weeks since arriving at the inn, and in spite of the arbitrary line she attempted to maintain between host and guest, she had grown quite attached to its occupants: from Roxanne’s tough love and Gage’s painful teenage angst, to sweet, devoted Fred and the luminous Mona, to the determined pair of Pennsylvania sisters who had installed themselves in Wave’s End to help (and who did not seem inclined to leave anytime soon).

  And then there was David, whose enigmatic presence deeply unsettled Faith, as much as she had tried to deny this to Grace. And finally Ellie, now surprising Faith at every turn.

  She never could have envisioned these attachments when she had packed her bag in haste those few weeks ago in Brooklyn, never imagined her heart lifting as it did now watching Ellie lead Mona by the hand to breakfast, Mona’s hair neatly combed and pinned back with a rhinestone barrette Faith recognized as her friend’s. Faith blew a kiss as Ellie carefully seated Mona across from a smiling Fred, whose bandage-free hands were folded in front of him. To Ellie’s relief, he had recovered enough from his recent scare to allow Ellie close to his wife again.

  “They truly are the sweetest, aren’t they?” Ellie joined Faith at a freshly set table for two on the far side of the dining room.

  “As sweet as you and Dennis will be in fifty years’ time.” Faith pushed a serving of frittata toward her.

  “I don’t know about that.” Ellie poked at the food with her fork.

  “Of course you do. When’s the last time you spoke to him, anyway?”

  “A few days ago, maybe? It’s so stupid, Faith. I don’t even remember what we fought about. I think this baby thing has me so freaked out I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

  “It’s Thanksgiving. Call the poor guy and give him some hope, will you? You can’t hide out here forever.”

  “Look who’s talking about hiding! I would have thought you’d be firing away on all burners in a new Manhattan restaurant by now.” Ellie sipped her tea, then lowered her voice to a murmur. “Have you decided what you’ll do when the inn closes? I mean, if it closes?”

  “Stay until Christmas, either way. Since I don’t have another job yet, I might as well hang around.”

  “But it’s the holidays. Isn’t that when restaurants need the most help?”

  “I’ve been too busy to look very hard,” Faith admitted.

  “Well, why would you want to, given all the distraction here?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Ellie tilted her head. “Oh, I don’t know. A seriously cute surfer chef, perhaps?”

  “Please. Don’t be ridiculous. David’s so not my type.” How had both Grace and Ellie decided that Faith was drawn to David?

  “How do you know? You don’t date enough to have one. And anyway, who would be interested in someone who is nice, considerate, excellent cook, et cetera, et cetera.” Ellie ticked off David’s attributes on her fingers. “Those are such turnoffs. And let’s not forget hot. You hate hot. Girl, have you seen that man’s guns?” Ellie got to her feet and flexed her arms in a bodybuilder’s stance.

  “Stop. You look like you’re about to give birth.” Faith held her stomach and laughed at the hilarious sight of Ellie grimacing while clenching her fists over her expansive belly. “Okay. Stop doing that now. You’re right. He’s nice. And helpful in the kitchen. I’ll give him that.”

  “You could give him a lot more—”

  “Whoa. Stop right there.” Faith grabbed Ellie’s arm and gently pushed her back into her seat. “David and I are friends. That’s it.”

  “Whatever, Faith. If I were you, I’d open my eyes. That’s all I’m saying.”

  63

  “More exotic spices?” Faith teased at the sight of yet another paper bag in David’s hand when the surfers returned. In the spirit of the holiday, she had taken Grace’s and Ellie’s advice to heart, letting go of the morning’s misgivings.

  “Nope, totally native this time,” David said, lingering in the kitchen. “Well, North Carolina native, anyway.” He offered her the bag. “Candied pecans. My mom always made them for Thanksgiving.”

  Realizing how melancholy the holiday might be without his mother, Faith impulsively asked for David’s help with the final preparations. He wasted no time pushing up the sleeves of his Ron Jon shirt and reversing his cap before getting to work.

  Flushed and triumphant several hours later, Faith and David surveyed the fruits of their afternoon labor: two turkeys roasted side by side and now resting on the kitchen counter, resplendent in golden skins and redolent of Faith’s rosemary-thyme rub; turkey drippings-enriched giblet gravy and cornbread stuffing; and ten pounds of peeled and quartered Yukon golds prepped in a lobster pot on the stove with chunks of chopped onion, ready for boiling, mashing and a dollop of some top-secret ingredient David so far had refused to divulge.

  Then there were the casseroles of roasted yams, dusted with David’s candied pecans, the offering that kicked off their collaboration in spite of Faith’s resolve to work alone.

  The rest of the menu reflected the guests’ favorites, based on Faith’s earlier poll. David took the initiative and heightened the glistening cranberry chutney, carefully recreated from Fred’s instructions, with fresh ginger and orange zest. The pantry also kept four desserts safe from Pixie’s inquiring paws: an apple crisp, for which Merrill and Grace had peeled and sliced several dozen Pink Ladies; Piquant’s pumpkin chiffon mousse, contributed by Faith and served in Maeve’s cordial glasses; a pecan pie put together by bartender Roxanne and fired with a generous splash of bourbon; and a tray of chocolate-chip cookies Ellie and Mona had lovingly labored over the previous afternoon.

  Yes, Faith thought, surveying the spread, she and David had orchestrated quite the banquet. The boarders agreed, praising the delicious aromas they encountered as they returned from assorted afternoon activities: attending the traditional high school football game, serving a community meal for storm survivors, strolling a rare stretch of boardwalk untouched by Nadine.

  Tanya and her aunt Hilda would arrive at any time. Faith looked forward to meeting this spunky relative.

  Only Ellie was conspicuously absent. As she collected the guests for dinner, Faith found her friend alone in the living room listlessly checking her phone, wads of spent white tissues lined up beside her like wilting dahlias. “Looks like I waited too long,” Ellie said dully
.

  According to Ellie, Dennis had declined her call.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Faith said. “Dennis would never do that. I don’t understand why you always jump to these conclusions. Now, blow your nose and come to the table. You wouldn’t want Mona to see you all sad and teary, would you?”

  Still sniffling, Ellie stood and followed Faith to the dining room, where boarders and guests had already assembled around one giant table assembled for this special occasion only. Presiding at its head, Connie spotted the two friends and patted empty seats on either side of her. “Just waiting for you two.”

  “Go ahead.” Faith gently pushed Ellie toward the table, but stopped short of sitting herself.

  “Everyone’s waiting for you, Faith,” Connie said.

  “But I have to serve,” Faith protested.

  “Not today you don’t. Come sit.”

  Reluctantly, Faith took her appointed seat, tongue-tied suddenly and perching stiffly on the edge of her chair. But as her fellow diners chatted and ribbed her about wearing her apron to the table, Faith begin to relax, and held one of Maeve’s cut-glass crystal goblets for some of the Beaujolais nouveau Tanya was pouring. A few sips helped to dispel her anxiety, and Faith began to enjoy this new vantage point. By the time applause erupted at David’s and Gage’s arrival with platters of turkey, Faith had settled in her chair, her apron now hung over its back, content to relinquish control momentarily and leave the serving to them.

  Having set down the meat, David and Gage retrieved the remaining casseroles from the kitchen, Gage practically salivating at the tempting array of food he carried.

  When they were all seated (David beside Faith, a move Faith knew her mother had orchestrated), Connie cleared her throat. “I want to welcome you all to my first Thanksgiving at The Mermaid’s Purse. I’ve never been around a table this grand for a holiday. It’s . . . well, it’s just lovely.” Swallowing, she clasped Faith’s hand. “I’m especially grateful to have my daughter with me for this one. And all holidays,” she added, causing Faith to color.