Serenity Harbor

by RaeAnne Thayne

  Muted strains of music from the reception drifted to them here as she gazed up at him for a long moment, her lovely face in shadows, illuminated only by the moonlight and the glow of a streetlight down the street.

  “You have to figure that out,” she finally said briskly. “Sooner rather than later. I have a little more than a week here in Haven Point, and then I need to go back to Colombia.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  She gave him a sharp look. “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not?”

  “I’m having a hard enough time with my mother pouring on the guilt about my choices every time I talk to her. I don’t need to hear it from you, too.”

  “That wasn’t my intention,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure his words were completely truthful.

  “You knew this was temporary from the beginning.”

  “Yes. I only meant he cares a great deal for you and you’ve been wonderful for him. He’s made amazing progress the last few weeks. Can you blame me for wanting to see that continue?”

  “I have obligations, Bowie. Places I have to be. I thought you understood that. My daughter is waiting for me. I care about Milo and wish I could stay longer, but it’s simply not possible.”

  “I know that,” he said.

  “Do you?”

  “You bring up Gabriela about every time you talk to me. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re trying to remind me or yourself.”

  He could see at once that was the wrong thing to say. She drew back as if he had slapped her.

  “Kat. I’m sorry.”

  “I need to return to the reception.” Now she was the one who spoke in a stiff voice, so tight it was a wonder she could get the words out. “Thank you again for coming and sharing in this joyful day.”

  She turned around and hurried away in a flurry of flip-flops and plum silk, leaving him to wonder why he acted like an ass every single time he talked to her.

  * * *

  “DAHHHS,” MILO SAID, tugging at her arm Thursday afternoon, nearly a week after Wynona and Cade were married.

  The day was cloudy, with a low pressure system hanging over the area and wind tossing the lake into a froth of whitecaps. Katrina had a headache brewing, too, gathering just as surely as those clouds.

  She really hoped the rain predicted for the area would hit and then move out before the weekend, when crowds would gather to celebrate Lake Haven Days in town.

  “Give me five minutes, okay? I have to finish this email first before we go to McKenzie’s house for you to see her dogs, Hondo and Rika. They’ll still be there in a few minutes. Can you play with your cars until I’m done?”

  He gave his put-upon look of disgust but plopped down on the floor of the family room next to the kitchen and started running his favorite purple car around the edge of the rug.

  Katrina returned to her email, fairly sure she wore the same look of disgust as she gazed at the message on her laptop screen. Her headache gathered steam as she read the contents one more time.

  According to Angel Herrera, they had to file yet another form with the Colombian national adoption agency, which would result in, naturally, more fees and yet more foot-dragging.

  Katrina wanted to cry—to weep and scream and break something. Or lots of somethings.

  Her daughter was slipping away from her and she didn’t know how to fix it, and she was so tired of fighting this fight.

  You bring up Gabriela about every time you talk to me. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re trying to remind me or yourself.

  Bowie’s words had haunted her all week. Maybe she was as flighty as everyone thought. She told herself she wanted nothing as much as to have her daughter with her, but she couldn’t seem to figure out a way to break through all the roadblocks in her way.

  She returned to her reply email, which seemed wholly inadequate to convey the depth of her fear.

  I have met every requirement asked of me, including providing all additional funds as requested. If you are unable to bring this matter to a satisfactory conclusion for all parties, perhaps I need to begin looking for another agency that can better meet my needs.

  It was an empty threat, and Angel Herrera had to know it. She couldn’t afford the time or resources to start all over. But she also couldn’t let him continue extorting money from her and dragging out the proceedings. A child’s future was at stake.

  She reread the letter, tweaked a few words, took a deep breath and hit Send. The moment she did, her stomach felt hollow and her shoulders seemed to cramp with tension.

  She really hoped she was doing the right thing. She had already been approved for the adoption. All these requirements for additional paperwork made no sense.

  Katrina pressed a hand to her stomach, unable to avoid the grim premonition that the adoption was doomed.

  She had just spoken with Gabi the night before via Skype and the girl had tried to reach out and touch the computer screen. “Come home,” Gabi had ordered in Spanish in her bossiest voice.

  “Next week,” she had promised her daughter. She had hoped to have news for the nuns at the orphanage, but now she didn’t know what to tell anyone.

  Needing a little comfort, she pulled up the photo album on her tablet to the familiar pictures that helped keep her focused. She saw a picture of Gabi splashing in the little wading pool at the orphanage in the purple flowered swimsuit Katrina had bought her. Another with her features fierce with concentration as she threw a ball toward a few other children on the bleak concrete play yard. A third with her hair flying back in the air and her feet straight out as she tried to figure out how to pump her legs on the swings.

  Would the girl ever be her daughter legally? And if she wouldn’t, how could Katrina leave everything she loved, her family and her town and her career, to live in another country so she could be with her?

  She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt a small hand on her leg. “Stop,” Milo ordered, in the same bossy tone Gabi had used the night before.

  “Stop?” she asked with a sniffle.

  “Stop. Sad.”

  The two words were perfectly clear, the most articulate she had ever heard him. He even did the hard consonants at the end of the words. He wanted her to stop being sad. His meaning was unmistakable.

  Katrina was stunned on several levels. She couldn’t forget that Milo had autism, which meant he wasn’t always in tune with his own emotions or with other people’s. The fact that he identified her sadness and expressed his displeasure in it was rather remarkable.

  She managed a watery smile through her tears. “This is my daughter. Gabi.”

  “Ga,” he tried.

  “That’s good. Gabi. I miss her and I’m...afraid I won’t be able to bring her back here to live with me.”

  He patted Katrina’s knee. “Stop. Sad.”

  Oh. He was trying to comfort her. Yet another breakthrough. She hugged him, something he usually didn’t like. This time he let her hug him for about two seconds longer than usual before wriggling away and picking up his car again.

  Her heart ached to know she would be leaving him in only a few days. What a cruel choice, that she had to leave one child she cared about in order to help another.

  “Okay, that’s enough of that.” Katrina wiped her tears, slapped her hands on her thighs and stood up a moment later. “Let’s go find us some dogs.”

  She decided on impulse to walk the short distance along the lake trail to Redemption Bay and McKenzie’s house, where the Helping Hands were meeting that day. As long as the rain held off, a little exercise might benefit both of them.

  He needed to work out a little energy, and she needed to clear her head. Fresh air was exactly what she needed, especially when it was Haven Point air—clean and cool and sweet with the scent
of summer blooms and pine pitch and the lake.

  * * *

  “THAT KID SURE loves the water, doesn’t he?”

  A half hour later, Katrina sat on McKenzie’s large terrace overlooking the lake, watching diligently as Milo stood at the water’s edge. He had one hand on Hondo, McKenzie and Ben’s brawny German shepherd, while he threw rocks into the water with the other.

  “He really does,” she answered McKenzie. “He would be happy all day if I let him stand there and throw rocks in.”

  “Ben used to love skipping rocks,” Ben’s mother, Lydia, said with a nostalgic smile.

  “Used to? He still does,” McKenzie said. “His record is eight skips.”

  “All my kids loved to throw rocks,” Charlene remembered. “It’s a wonder I ever had any left in my landscaping. If you’re done with the black paint, would you hand it down?”

  The Haven Point Helping Hands had gathered to finish a couple of last-minute craft projects for a booth they were sponsoring the next day at Lake Haven Days, the town’s annual summer festival.

  Katrina handed the small bottle of paint in question to her mother, then continued sticking labels on the small bars of scented soap some of the Helping Hands had made for the booth.

  She wasn’t the best crafter, but she enjoyed hanging out with all the funny, smart, compassionate women who made up the Helping Hands. She would savor every moment, she told herself. This afternoon held an added poignancy, given her limited time left in Haven Point. This might be her last chance with them before she left the following week to return to Colombia and Gabriela.

  While she listened to their chatter, she kept a careful eye on Milo. McKenzie had enlisted one of the high school girls who worked for her to keep an eye on the children who came with their mothers, but Milo could sometimes need a little extra attention.

  He was her first priority here, and any craft projects had to come in a distant second.

  “This was a good idea, to have our meeting here for a change instead of your claustrophobic work space where we usually meet,” Linda Fremont said.

  McKenzie only smiled at the barbed compliment. “Our summers are so fleeting, I want to spend every moment I can outdoors, don’t you?”

  Katrina didn’t hear how Sam’s mother answered. She probably didn’t need to. Linda rarely had a nice word to say about anything.

  The conversation drifted, and she was content to sit and listen while she kept an eye on Milo. A few moments later, he appeared to tire of the rocks at long last and headed toward her, this time with Hondo following close behind.

  “Bo,” he said when he reached her side.

  Her heartbeat kicked up a beat, and she couldn’t resist scanning the lake for a certain gorgeous computer geek, though her rational side knew he wasn’t anywhere around.

  “Bo’s not here, honey. He’s working, remember?”

  “Bo!” he insisted. “Bo. Bo-o.”

  He pointed at the gleaming restored Kilpatrick moored to the dock at the edge of the property, bobbing gently on the water.

  “Oh. You’re saying boat.”

  He nodded vigorously, and she smiled. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He reached for her hand and tugged it. “Bo!”

  She had told him they would go on a boat and hadn’t followed through, she suddenly remembered. “We can’t go out on the boat right now. I’m sorry.”

  “Bo! Bo. Bo.” He chanted the words, more insistent with every syllable. She could see he was heading for a meltdown, like those rising storm clouds of earlier, the ones that seemed to have churned a little over the lake, then blown away.

  What he needed right now was food, she realized. They had opted to craft first, eat later—which was fine for the women but not for a young boy whose mood was much more stable when he ate at regular intervals.

  She reached for her backpack and the supplies she had packed along for exactly this eventuality.

  “I’ve got a granola bar and some apple slices and peanut butter here. Let’s walk over there and take a look at Ben’s boat while we have a snack. What do you say?”

  She took his hand and the paper bag with the snacks and walked across the lawn with him, then out along the dock. He was intrigued enough to be out over the water that he let himself be distracted from going on the boat. Holding his hand, she walked down with him almost to the end, and they sat on the dock eating the snacks and watching a kingfisher swooping into the water for its own snack.

  By the time he polished off nearly everything she’d brought, he forgot all about going out on the boat and she led him back to the group, where a few other children had arrived.

  “You’re so good with him,” Charlene said, with a definite note of astonishment in her voice. Katrina might have reminded her mother she was an experienced educator with excellent job reviews but decided to simply enjoy the rare compliment.

  “He’s a good boy,” she said instead.

  “Does he still have tantrums?” Charlene asked. “I know you said he did when Bowie hired you, but I haven’t seen anything like that when I’ve been with the two of you.”

  “Once in a while,” she answered. “I’ve sort of figured out some of the cues and a few strategies to head them off. Distraction is the best thing I’ve found.”

  “Bowie is going to have a tough time of things when you’re gone,” Charlene said.

  As if she needed more guilt. “He’ll be fine,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as anyone. “He’s hired a very well-known autism specialist to be Milo’s nanny. I’ve spoken with her on the phone a few times this week, and she sounds more than competent. She’s coming in Tuesday. That’s supposed to be my last day.”

  “You’re still leaving Wednesday?” Samantha asked, her expression plainly upset about the prospect.

  “That’s still my plan.”

  “We’ve hardly spent a minute together.”

  Yeah. Guilt. Her new best friend. “We’re together now,” she pointed out. “And we’ll have plenty of time to hang out during the Lake Haven Days activities.

  Sam didn’t seem very appeased, and Katrina didn’t know what to say to her. She could feel the friendship slipping away, and she hated it.

  Fortunately, Lydia distracted Sam by asking her about a particular dress style she had seen at a boutique in San Francisco when she was there on a visit a few months earlier with her husband, and the conversation drifted.

  After a few moments, she decided she better check on Milo, who had gone inside with Lizzie and a few of the children to explore Ben and Kenzie’s well-outfitted game room. He seemed to be doing fine, watching with wide eyes while Jazmyn Barrett and Katrina’s niece-to-be, Chloe, played Ping-Pong.

  When she headed back to the kitchen, she found McKenzie replenishing a tray of snacks to take back out to the other Helping Hands. The chance to speak with her alone seemed too good an opportunity to pass up.

  “I need to ask a favor,” she said after a few moments of helping her fill the tray. “Technically, I need to ask Ben a favor, I guess.”

  McKenzie’s eyes showed her curiosity. “Of course. Whatever we can do.”

  Warmth seeped into her. She loved knowing she could ask any of the women here for help and she would find it. “It’s not for me, actually,” she answered. “It’s Milo. He’s a little bit obsessed with boats, as you may have noticed.”

  McKenzie smiled. “I do believe I picked that up a little while ago.”

  “I promised him I would try to arrange a ride for him on a boat before I leave town.”

  “Oh! Ben mentioned that Bowie had talked to him a week or so ago about taking the boy out on his Killy when he had the chance. We’ve been so slammed with the wedding that I think we both completely forgot. I’m sorry.”

  “Please. Don’t
apologize. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. You threw together that wedding and reception basically single-handedly and did an amazing job.”

  “But we still need to get that boy out on the boat. Ben thought it was a great idea when Bowie talked to him. He was really looking forward to it. What about tonight?”

  “Tonight!” She laughed at the typical McKenzie charge-forward response. “It’s only the night before the biggest day of the year around here. Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

  McKenzie took her mayoral responsibilities very seriously, which Katrina respected.

  “Oh, tomorrow will be completely insane, but believe it or not, we’re totally free tonight. We were just going to hang out together at home and maybe grill.”

  “Sounds like a lovely evening,” she said, trying to ignore the envy roiling through her.

  “It would be even better if you and Bowie and Milo joined us. Ben would love any excuse to take out the Killy, and it would be lovely to come back here with you and grill on the terrace.”

  “I don’t know if Bowie has plans,” she said quickly, before McKenzie took the idea and started running with it. “I should have talked to him first. He may need to work late.”

  “Ben can make sure he doesn’t,” McKenzie said. “I’ll text Ben now so that he and Bowie can work out all the details.”

  McKenzie’s fingers flew over her phone before Katrina could protest.

  “There,” Kenz said a moment later. “Done.”

  Katrina wasn’t at all sure how Bowie would feel about the whole thing. He had gone out of his way to avoid spending much time with her the last week—and she had done the same.

  She had done her best to avoid Bowie since the wedding. He stayed late at Caine Tech most nights, and on the nights he came home at a reasonable hour, she made excuses to go hang out with Sam or visit other friends in Haven Point.

  Trying to keep from spending much time with the man in person didn’t keep her thoughts from straying to him way too many times a day than she knew was strictly in her best interest.