“What?” James asked.
“Something just dive-bombed into my eye.”
“Are you okay?”
I blinked a few times and rubbed my eyelid. “It’s gone. I’m fine.”
James looked down at me. “No, it’s not. It’s splatted across the white of your eyeball, flat out like it’s making a snow angel.”
“It can’t be. I don’t even feel it.”
“Here, let me get it.”
James reached forward and I stepped back.
“No, that’s okay, I’ve got it.” I spread my eyelid and realized I didn’t even know where to probe. “Where is it?”
Again James leaned in and again I stepped back. I was wishing he’d just disappear.
He stood up straight, tucked his hands in his shorts pockets, and with a smile he said, “It’s on the outside corner… of your right eye.”
I touched my eyeball with my finger and looked back at him with wide eyes.
“From over here, it looks like it’s definitely still there.”
I tried again.
“Still there.”
“It’ll be fine until I get back to my room.” I continued down the road at a quick pace and rambled on about what I had done that day.
After a few minutes James interrupted me and asked, “How can you not feel that? It’s really kind of gross.”
“I can’t feel it. Are you sure it’s there? I don’t feel anything.”
“Actually, I’m lying because I’m an eyeball man, you see. I have a thing for eyeballs, especially touching them.” He stopped walking. “Let me just get it out. I’m not going to try to kiss you if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He was a few feet behind me when I stopped and turned to face him. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“No, I wasn’t thinking that. Why would I think that? Okay, get it out.” I walked back to where he was standing and looked up at him.
James lifted my chin, gently held my eye open, and extracted the bug. Then he held up the tip of his finger and said, “See, it was all on the up and up.”
I looked up into his big brown eyes and said, “Thanks, maybe you can be trusted.” I smiled and felt myself blushing.
I am an eye gal and a smile gal. And James Alexander has great eyes and a weak-in-your-knees smile. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? I wanted him to kiss me, but he didn’t. Instead he shoved his hands into his pockets and continued down the road. I followed. We walked and talked, although I can’t remember about what.
Between the trees I could see the sun was glowing orange and fuzzy over the water. It hadn’t quite touched the horizon line yet, my favorite part. Just as my thoughts were lamenting that I was going to miss it, James asked, “Would you like to walk down to the beach and watch the sunset?”
“Yes, I want to watch the sunset.”
We wound our way around the trees and sat silently on the shore. When only a sliver of the sun was still visible, James asked, “How long were you married?”
“I’m still married, but when my husband left we’d been married for twenty-five years and six months.”
“That’s a long time.”
“It didn’t feel like it.”
“You don’t want a divorce?”
“No, but I’m adjusting to the reality of it. I was happy. I thought my husband was too. But now, looking back I can see how he tried to tell me he wasn’t. I wasn’t listening. I think he could have tried harder though. And besides, what does being happy have to do with marriage anyway?” I forced a laugh. “So how about you?”
“Like Gary said, I’m in the middle of a pretty messy divorce. Since my business is their business, my family has a vested interest in who gets what. It’s really my wife versus Alexander Incorporated. If it was up to me, I would have walked away a long time ago, let her have it all. I don’t even show up to the ongoing negotiations.”
“How long has it been?”
“Over two years.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, I know, ludicrous.”
“Why did it end, your marriage?”
“I don’t know that it ever started.”
“You were never happy?”
“Honestly, I can’t remember being happy in my marriage, ever.”
“So, why did you stay?”
“When we got married, Laura, my wife, was pregnant with our oldest son. I was committed to staying in it. I told myself the grass wasn’t greener. Marriage is tough. If I couldn’t make it work, I couldn’t make any marriage work. So, I stayed. Didn’t really try, but I stayed, pretty honorable, huh?”
“So, what finally brought about your divorce?”
“Our kids asked us to call it quits.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, sixteen, eighteen and twenty at the time, and they sat their mom and me down one night and told us, enough already. Put everyone out of their misery and get a divorce. You know what my biggest regret is? That I didn’t work on my marriage for my kids. What a life they’ve had. Every material possession they could ever ask for but not a home filled with love and peace. I’m so ashamed that I thought just staying together was enough. What thinking human being could believe that? For twenty years I was in a daze. I didn’t think.”
Tears filled James’ eyes.
“Is it too late, to work on it?” I asked.
“Over two decades of beating each other up doesn’t leave a lot to work with, and Laura’s moved on.”
“Someone else?”
James nodded.
What a club, the walking wounded. My neighbor Lillian had told me about a divorce support group that met at the Community Church. She thought I should try it and maybe I should have. After talking to James that night, I didn’t feel so alone.
“Are you really thinking about buying The Lake Lodge?” James asked me.
“Yes, maybe, I don’t know. I love it. I love the island. I have for over twenty years.”
“You’ve been coming here for twenty years?”
“No, this is the first time I’ve actually been to the island. A picture was all it took though, and now I know why. I probably sound like a nut, but there’s something about this place that makes me feel safe, calm, and just really right. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do. I’ve always loved the island. I spent most of my summers here growing up. I wanted to raise my kids here but Laura thought Chicago would give them the schools and opportunities they should have.”
“Do you feel it, then, a kind of connection?”
“Yes.”
I wanted to reach over and take his hand, not in a romantic way. I just wanted to comfort him, to be comforted. But I kept both hands tightly clasped around my knees.
When the last of the golden sliver slipped away behind the water, we both got up and walked back into town. Without a word, we walked until we were standing in the front of the bakery, and James asked, “When do you leave?”
“Sunday.”
“I’m having my weekly poker game with my mom and some friends tomorrow night. It’s a friendly game, quarter ante. You want to join us?”
“Your mom, really?”
“She’s quite a card player.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“We start at seven.”
“I’m not much of a card player. Not poker anyway. I’m going to pass, but thanks.”
“Okay, maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Maybe. Goodnight, James.”
“Goodnight, Cammy.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Take the Risk
Gabriel Park is ten acres of grass, sugar maples, and flowering shrubs—mock orange, lilacs, and dogwoods, to name a few. A century-old gazebo is posted at the corner where the park meets Main Street and Fort Hill. There is no playground equipment, but a three-tiered fountain bubbles in the middle of it all.
The island fathers and mothers have very strict guidelines to keep all that is St. Gabriel old, or at least looking old, which has stirred mor
e than a few hot St. Gabe debates. But all of the restrictions have kept the island what it is, a place that transports a person back in time a hundred years, beginning the moment they step off the ferry and walk down the dock onto Main Street.
Modern clothing, music, and food are all readily available on the island but the bones of the place—preservation, preservation, preservation. This comforts me. Knowing that I’m not going to walk around the corner and see the side of a mountain being leveled to put up the next superstore, and I won’t have to watch the cute little house on the corner be torn down to put in a Gas-n-Go, gives me a sense of time and place that sets the pulse of life at just the right pace for me.
I wouldn’t be on the island for the Cherry Festival held at the end of July, but my extended stay had allowed me to participate in St. Gabriel’s Independence Day festivities. A band was playing a patriotic medley in the gazebo, families and sweeties were spread out on blankets, and older folks sat in folding chairs, all watching the fireworks that were being launched from the top of Fort Hill.
I was flat on my back, taking in the succession of the booms and bursts exploding directly over the park. I laced my fingers through the blades of grass that was the thick, cushy kind, the kind that gives a little when you walk on it.
“Good view?” asked James who was looking down at me, his six feet plus looked exaggerated from my vantage point.
“The best view. It’s the only way to watch fireworks you know? Or look at a tree or a cloud.”
“Absolutely, who doesn’t know that?”
“No one that matters.”
“Can I join you?”
“Sure.”
James lay next to me, leaving a safe couple of feet between us. He sprawled flat out, the toes of his shoes pointing out to the sides, his hands clasped on his stomach.
When the last spark of the finale had fizzled out in the sky, James took me to Masa de Cielo, a Mexican bakery, where we had hot chocolate made with cream and eggs and split a Cremas de Fresca, a flaky pastry filled with fluffy cream cheese and strawberries.
“There’s been something I’ve wanted to ask you since I first met you,” I told James.
“What’s that?”
“Gary Rogers?”
“Hmm. You want to know why we’re friends.”
“I’m just curious.”
“Our families are friends. We went to the same schools. And Gary’s parents traveled a lot when we were kids, so he spent most of every summer here on the island with my family. I know he’s kind of over the top but it’s just one of those friendships that’s a given, I guess.”
“Well, I think it’s admirable that you haven’t given it back.”
We laughed.
“So what do you do when you’re not being James Alexander of the St. Gabriel Alexanders?”
“You mean for a living?”
“I guess or whatever.”
“I help run the properties on the island that my family owns. My brother is the wheeler dealer. I manage the restaurants mostly. And I play in a band.”
“A band, really, where do you play?”
“On the island sometimes and in small clubs in Chicago.”
“What instrument do you play?”
“Bass.”
“Bass guitar?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
James laughed. “Of course, why do you say that?”
“Well, you don’t have the lips of a horn player and you’re too tall to be a drummer.”
“Really.”
“Absolutely, I know these things.”
He flashed his knee-weakening smile.
“What else?” I asked.
“It’s my turn to interrogate you.”
“I’m not done. What else?”
“That’s it.” James sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
Then I sat back, crossed my arms, and looked at him with a raised eyebrow and said, “What else?”
“And I fly,” he added.
“Airplanes?”
“No, I have great wing span.” He flapped his arms out to the side.
I laughed. “When did you learn?”
“I was eighteen. I wanted to be able to fly back and forth from Chicago to the island.”
“Understandable. And where do you live?” I was being pushy but James didn’t really seem to mind.
“Since I separated from Laura, I live in Chicago in the winter and summers here on the island. I have an apartment downtown.”
“Who lives in the big Alexander House on Mission Hill? I saw it marked on the tourist map they gave out on the ferry.”
“My mom, most of the year, and other family and friends stay there when they’re visiting the island. Most of my family lives in Chicago and travels back and forth in the summer.”
“Did your family really try to buy The Lake Lodge?”
“My brother did a couple of years ago. He wanted to use it for dorms for the summer workers and storage for the businesses. But he couldn’t settle on a price with the owner. Not surprising, my brother’s a cheapskate. I’m sure he was trying to steal it. He’s not really very popular on the island. He tends to prioritize the bottom line. He gives all of the Alexanders a bad name.”
“Do you know who owns it? The caretaker wasn’t a wealth of information.”
“It’s in a trust, a family out of Indiana, I think.” James got a tense look on his face and bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Cammy, I wouldn’t try to tell you what to do, but that property is a real project. Nothing’s been updated for years. Plumbing, electrical, it’s probably all original, from the 20s. And it’s on the other side of the island, so far from downtown where most of the tourists are.”
“That’s what I love about it. I know people wouldn’t be coming in droves. I’m not looking to get rich, but I think there are people who would appreciate the peace and quiet. And James, like the island, there’s just something about it, the whole property that feels so right to me.”
“You know that some people really do believe it’s haunted?”
“Yes, but I don’t believe in that stuff. Do you?”
“No, but rumors like that could hurt business.”
“I hear all that you’re saying but none of it worries me. Maybe it should, but it doesn’t.”
“So, you’re seriously thinking about it?”
“I am.”
“What are they asking for it?”
“We didn’t quite get that hammered out. I still have a house I would need to sell. And I have moments when I have doubts. I really believe it could be successful. I just don’t know if I have what it would take to make it successful. I could lose everything.”
“Cammy…” James reached across the table and put his hand on top of mine. “…if you decide to do it, I have no doubt you’ll be successful.”
When James lifted his hand, I looked at the wedding ring on my finger, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw James watching me look at it. And I decided it was time to let go.
Before we said goodnight, James and I stood talking in front of Hausterman’s Bakery and he asked me, “Are you going to the parade tomorrow?”
I love a parade. And it doesn’t have to be a good one, although, I do rate them. I love that people take time out of their busy lives to dress up, make floats and walk or ride down the road, waving at total strangers and total strangers wave back. I love that there is dancing and music right in the middle of the street. I love that children, who have expensive toys and electronics cluttering their bedrooms, get excited when a piece of penny candy is tossed to them from a float.
I’ve never been to a really big, professional one like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, it’s on my list, but I have never passed up an opportunity to watch a procession that is gathering to celebrate.
“Yes, I was planning on it.”
“I’m having a barbeque. I’d like you to come and meet some of my family and friends. We’l
l watch the parade from the balcony of my apartment.”
“I want to watch from the street, squished in the crowd. Hopefully, I’ll get kicked in the head by a child who’s perched on their father’s shoulders.”
“That does sound like fun. Can I join you?”
“If you want to take the risk.”
“I think I should. If you get knocked out, I’ll be there to drag you to safety so that you don’t get trampled.”
“That would be very gentlemanly of you.”
“Then after the parade, maybe you’ll come upstairs and eat something.”
“Will your mom be there?”
“Possibly.”
“Can I bring a friend?”
“You have friends?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“I meant on the island.”
“Yes, I do. Can I bring her?”
“Her? Oh, yes, you can bring a friend.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Friends
“That’s the Hill Crowd you’re talking about. You realize that?” was Sara’s response when I asked her to go to James’ barbeque with me.
“The Hill Crowd?”
“The rich who live in the homes on Mission Hill.”
“James lives in an apartment downtown,” I told her.
“I’ll pass.”
“Why, Sara Strauss, you are a snob.”
“No, I just know who my friends are and it’s not the Hill Crowd. Listen, girl, you don’t have to live on this island very long to learn there are Tourists, Summers, Gabies, and the Hill Crowd, most of which are Summers, and we all keep our distance. It’s just the way it is.”
“Okay, back up, missy. What’s a Summer?”
“Residents, who are mostly rich and live here for just the summer.”
“So, what if I told you I was rich, would you hold it against me?”
“It’s not that they’re rich. It’s that they act like they own the place even though it’s the Gabies who really call the island home. We’re not here just to make a buck or vacation for a few weeks or months out of the year. So, you’re rich, huh?”
“No, I’m not. Come with me, please. James is very nice. You’ll like him. I promise.”
“I should keep the bakery open until nine.”
“I thought about that. But remember what you told me would be fun to try? Put the day-old baked goods on a table outside in front of the bakery with an on-your-honor pay system, and see what happens. We’ll put what’s left from the day’s baking on a table with a sign and a can for the money. Then we’ll close up around six and see what happens. I’ll pay for whatever is missing and doesn’t get paid for.”
My Way Home (St.Gabriel Series Book 1) (St. Gabriel Series) Page 10
