by Susan Wiggs
Igni-second, she thought. Like a nanosecond, only it referred to the time lapse between slamming the car door and realizing the keys were still in the ignition. And that the doors were on autolock, an antitheft feature she kept forgetting to disable.
Ha, she thought. I’m prepared for this. She had a second car key stashed inside the kitchen cupboard, just for this purpose. She rushed inside, set down Adam’s carrier, grabbed the key and headed for the door, pausing to make a soothing sound at Adam—a sound that only infuriated him further. In the car outside, Bradley, perhaps alerted to disaster, had set up a wailing of his own. She managed to drop the key through a gap in the porch steps.
Her children, she knew, were going to grow up knowing more cusswords than the proverbial sailor. She dropped to her knees to retrieve the key, only to discover that there was no way to reach beneath the steps. She ran to the car and tried the doors and the hatchback again, just in case. Bradley’s face was a red ball of fury. She had an impulse to do something—anything. Throw a brick through the window? No. She didn’t trust that the glass was shatterproof enough.
Panic happened in the heartbeat of time it took to realize she had no safe way to get to her baby. Before she even made up her mind about what to do, she called 911.
* * *
Twelve endless, agonizing minutes later, Will Bonner, looking like Captain America, opened the door with what appeared to be a blood pressure cuff. A few puffs of inflation created a gap wide enough for him to trip the latch. When he turned to her with her unharmed son safe in his arms, Sarah’s knees wobbled.
“Let’s go inside and sit down,” Will suggested.
Sarah nodded and followed him into the house, where Adam now slumbered peacefully in his carrier. “It’s not abnormally inflamed,” Will said, checking the injection site. “Doesn’t look that way to me, anyway.”
“I think it’s my imagination that’s inflamed.” She took several deep breaths, trying to regain her composure.
Bradley seemed perfectly content in Will’s arms. Will seemed perfectly content, holding the baby.
The sight of them together made her cry. It was a little shocking, how quickly the emotion took hold. Humiliated, she grabbed a tissue and pressed it to her face. “Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. Anyone would find that stressful.” He put Bradley in his crib, his movements awkward but careful.
Standing in the doorway, Sarah waited for a squawk of protest, but the baby settled down, blinking slowly and then letting his eyes drift shut. “You’re good with babies.”
“Am I?” Will grinned. “I don’t have much experience, but they’re not that complicated. The complications come later, around seventh grade.” He took Sarah’s hand and led her to the sofa. They sat for a few minutes in silence, then he said, “Sarah. What are we doing?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking.” Oh, but she was. She knew exactly what he was asking. And he deserved an explanation. She took another deep breath. “I’m learning to stand on my own for the first time in my life. Until now, I was taken care of, first by my family, and then by Jack and his family. It’s not like I was ever the little woman, but I never really learned to go it alone and it’s about time I did that.”
“What are you trying to prove?”
“I need to know I can do this. It’s hard, but maybe that’s why I need to prove it to myself. Life isn’t easy. It’s not supposed to be. That’s not such a bad thing. When it was easy, I was sleepwalking through the day, pretending everything was fine. I woke up to a harsh reality, but ultimately that’s what saved me.”
He absorbed her words with a prolonged silence. Then, finally, he looked at her. “I love you, Sarah.” There was no joy in his voice as he said it. “I don’t know when it happened, but I think it started the night of Franny’s puppies.”
She stared at him, afraid to breathe and completely at a loss for words.
“So I’ve known it for a while,” Will said, “but I backed off, gave you space so you could deal with all this.” He encompassed the room with a gesture.
She reeled from his declaration. She almost returned it. I love you, too. An ache of longing thrummed in her chest. “Oh, Will. I never meant to mislead you, or make you think...” She stopped, tried to regroup, but there was still too much pain and confusion knotting her insides. This was exactly as she’d feared. She couldn’t have him both ways. “I need you as a friend, Will—”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but we can’t stop there. We’re already past the point of no return.”
She heard his honesty, and the passion behind his words. “I’m not disappointed,” she said.
“Sarah,” he said, “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to call me. Don’t wait for there to be a problem. Just call.”
“I don’t think I should do that,” she said. In her head, Shirl’s voice scolded, Hello? This is Will Bonner you’re turning down. Are you out of your gourd? “Listen,” she rushed on, “if this was just about you and me, things would be different. We’re old enough to know what we’re doing. Old enough to survive a broken heart. But think about the kids, Aurora and the boys. If we’re wrong, or if we screw this up, you and I won’t be the only casualties.”
“Why are you so convinced we’re going to screw this up?” he asked.
“I’m just saying, it’s not fair to the kids to take that risk. Not now, anyway.” There, she cracked open the door.
“When?” he persisted. “Next week? In a month? You can find an excuse that’ll work anytime.”
“These are not excuses,” she objected.
“Right. Give me a call when you run out of them.”
“Will,” she said, “I’m...I think you’re amazing, and I’m flattered, but my life is crazy right now.”
“And when is life not crazy? Tell me that.”
Touché, she thought.
Thirty-Seven
Sarah wasn’t sure why she had agreed to attend the Oyster Festival on Sunday. Lately, she barely made it to 8:00 p.m. before exhaustion claimed her. The babies no longer woke up for night feedings, a small miracle that came in the nick of time, just before she lost her mind. Still, the routine was taking its toll.
However, her brother Kyle seemed to want her involvement, explaining that the annual festival was a key event for his buyers and restaurateurs. He and their father stopped by Sarah’s house. As always, Dad hunkered down on the floor with the babies. He had given every inch of his heart to being a grandfather, and even at their young age, the twins seemed to recognize that here was someone special in their lives. They favored him with cooing and a great pedaling of legs and extra-wide smiles.
Sarah didn’t kid herself about the challenges of raising two boys without a father. Knowing her dad and Kyle would be there for the twins was a precious gift to her.
Kyle showed her a folder of glossy brochures. “Everybody loves the idea of a homegrown family operation. The whole town is involved. The event even has a name—the Moon Bay Oyster Festival.”
“If the whole town is involved,” Sarah said, “then you don’t need me.”
“Sure, we do. Just be gorgeous and charming,” Kyle said. “You could be the Oyster Queen.”
Sarah gave an exaggerated shudder. “I thought they came for the oysters.”
“They’re coming for the whole experience,” her father explained.
“Give them Moon Bay key chains and T-shirts and shucking aprons. I’d just be in the way.”
“Still worried about what people might think?” Kyle asked.
She sent a quick look at their father. He stayed focused on the boys, and his face betrayed nothing.
“I beg your pardon,” Sarah said.
“Come on,” Kyle said. “When we were young, you always hated working for the family business, but you�
�re an adult now.”
“I didn’t hate it.” A sick feeling churned inside her. They had never talked about this before, yet both her brother and father seemed to know.
“Kyle, that’s enough,” their father said.
Sarah looked from her father to her brother. They were so alike, these two, both honest and hardworking—and also much more aware of her troubles than she’d ever given them credit for. “He’s right. I was just a stupid kid.”
“You were a very smart kid,” her father said, “and I wish I hadn’t made you work at the oyster farm.” He took hold of Adam’s feet and played with them. “No oyster farming for you and your brother, little man, and that’s a promise.” He grinned at Sarah. “Being a parent is so much easier for a grandparent.”
“I could say the same about being a daughter, now that I’m a mother. Seriously, I wish I’d done more. The family business gave me the best education money can buy. I never appreciated that.” She swallowed past the ache in her throat. “Dad, I’m so sorry.”
He levered himself up from the play area on the floor to enfold her in a hug. Bit by bit, the tension inside her eased and slipped away. Forgiveness was such a simple thing, she thought, once you surrendered to it. Smiling through tears, she reached for her brother. “I don’t have cooties anymore,” she said, and he let her hug him.
“So does this mean you’re in?” Kyle asked.
“Just don’t make me be the Oyster Queen.”
* * *
The morning of the oyster festival, Sarah’s father asked her to meet him at Glenn Mounger’s garage. “I have a surprise for you,” was all he said.
On the way to the garage, Sarah took the babies to Gran and Aunt May. They insisted on keeping the babies all day and overnight. It was time, they said. Sarah couldn’t argue with that, and she couldn’t dispute the sturdy competence with which the old girls took charge. Ultimately, she surrendered the boys with a feeling of relief and gratitude.
Being a mother encompassed every moment of her life. She was sucked into it, and often forgot to come up for air. Her doctor, concerned about exhaustion, insisted she wean them onto bottles, and they were now eating cereal, too. As she left her grandmother’s house, she steeled herself not to look back. They’re fine, she told herself.
And they were, of course. There was even a certain symmetry in the twin old ladies looking after the twin boys.
On her own for the first time since the babies’ arrival, Sarah felt strange and light, unencumbered. She kept worrying that she’d forgotten something. When she parked at Mounger’s garage and got out, she stood beside the Mini for a moment, feeling naked without her usual drape of baby gear and the babies themselves. Then she took a deep breath and went in search of her father.
The auto body and repair garage had been a fixture in Glenmuir for as long as Sarah could remember. It was the kind of place that appealed to guys far more than women, which was probably why her father spent so much time there. The barnlike garage had repair bays for lease, along with a bewildering array of tools and equipment. An old-fashioned Wurlitzer jukebox played surfer music. The long walls were hung with enameled signs for motor oil and radial tires, vintage neon clocks and calendars, and lighted glass cases displaying the prizes Glenn had won in car shows all over the country.
In search of her father, she passed cars in various states of repair, some with their engines dismantled, others with missing body parts or denuded upholstery. At the far end, bathed in sunlight through an open bay door, stood her father, next to the Mustang. Dad’s face shone with love and pride. “Surprise,” he said.
“You finished your car.” Sarah couldn’t believe her eyes. The last time she’d seen the Mustang, it had been little more than a corroded exoskeleton and a collection of unconnected parts. “Dad, it’s beautiful.”
The car gleamed with multiple coats of poppy-red paint. Every bit of chrome shone like a mirror and the top was down. Seeing the car, and the expression on her father’s face, reminded Sarah of so many moments from her childhood—drives to the city, with her mother looking glamorous in a silk scarf and dark glasses, her dad singing along with the radio and Kyle in the backseat beside her.
“I’m so glad I came back here,” she said to her father.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied, holding open the door for her. “Let’s go pick up your brother and LaNelle.”
Rolling along at the dignified pace of visiting royalty, they drove through the main street of town in the Mustang. With their shoes off to keep from damaging the upholstery, Sarah and LaNelle sat in the backseat of the convertible, waving like homecoming queens as they passed the crowd that came out for the festival. Sarah tilted her head back, feeling a glow of warmth from the Indian summer sun. See, Mama? she thought. There’s nothing to worry about, not anymore. We’re all right.
* * *
Although initially organized to generate goodwill between vendor and buyer, the festival had expanded to encompass the whole town. In a pavilion set up by a catering firm, the Moon Bay Oyster Company showcased the oysters of autumn. Guests sampled raw kumamotos with sauces of lemon or horseradish, pan-grilled Tomales Bay oysters and barbecued, baked and broiled Mad River oysters. A local microbrewery supplied a coffee-colored porter beer to go with the creamy oysters and dark, rich bread. A winery from Napa served a dry Muscadet, another perfect pairing with oysters. The Bonner Flower Farm supplied floral arrangements.
There was a picnic in Town Park, races on Children’s Beach and a sailing regatta across the bay. The fishing fleet strung twinkling lights through the rigging of every boat, and live bands took turns performing all day and into the night.
The festival was as fun and exhausting as her brother and father had promised. The hours passed in a blur, and the girl Sarah had been, the one who had resented being an oysterman’s daughter, who had hidden her chapped hands but not her attitude, slipped away finally and completely, her disappearance unnoticed and unlamented. In her place was a better person, a daughter and sister filled with pride and excitement for her family.
It wasn’t a perfect day. Will never showed up. It wasn’t as if he were obligated, she told herself. Their relationship—such as it was—had been progressing at a snail’s pace and actually, she wasn’t even sure it was progressing at all. Someone told her he had been watching Aurora in the regatta, cheering her on as she crossed the finish, but Sarah didn’t see him.
It was better this way. Whenever she was near Will Bonner, she felt the tension of unbearable yearning, so strong that it hurt. He made her want to do foolish things, but she was a mother now. With her two boys depending on her, she couldn’t afford to make mistakes.
At sunset, the middle of the pavilion was transformed into a dance floor. A new band arrived, and the musicians began tuning up their instruments. Sarah felt inexplicably nervous but at least, she conceded, she’d bought a great outfit for the evening. It was a pale blue chiffon dress, with a halter top clasped behind her neck and a floaty skirt that whirled like flower petals. The matching pumps made her feel like Cinderella.
Back in Chicago, she used to feel trapped in her fine clothes but she realized now it wasn’t the clothes at all. The problem had been with her old self, a woman who thought she knew what her life was supposed to be. In a way, losing Jack had been the best thing that could have happened, because if it hadn’t, she never would have made a change on her own.
Her father claimed her for the first dance. Despite the dress, she felt clumsy and awkward, but when she looked over at Kyle and LaNelle, who were lost in each other’s arms, she realized that style and grace didn’t matter. “What’s so funny?” her father asked, catching her smiling.
“People don’t care what other people look like when they dance,” she said.
“And that’s funny?”
“What’s funny is I never reali
zed it before.”
“How’s the whiplash?” her father asked.
“What?”
“You know, the whiplash. From looking around and trying to see if Will Bonner has showed up.”
“That’s crazy, Dad.”
“Uh-huh. Try telling that to this guy.” Her father turned her in his arms, and there was Will. He looked incredible in faded Levi’s and a crisply pressed shirt, his hair still slightly damp from the shower and his face lit with a smile.
“Oh,” she said, feeling her cheeks fill up with color.
“Hello to you, too,” he said. “Dance with me.”
Her father handed her off and faded away, and she found herself whirling amid the dancers with him. “You look beautiful,” he murmured in her ear. His hand splayed across her bare back.
She nearly melted; it had been so long since someone had told her she was pretty and held her in his arms. “Thanks,” she said. “This is quite a change for me. I was getting used to T-shirts with spit-up on them.”
“You clean up real well.”
“Why are you so nice?” she asked him.
“You wouldn’t ask that if you knew what I was thinking.” He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered a suggestion that made her blush to the roots of her hair.
Helpless, she leaned her forehead on his shoulder as the music slowed to an old favorite, “Dock of the Bay.” There was something both leisurely and erotic about the way he moved against her, and she forgot the whole world as she gave herself up to sensation, closing her eyes and tipping back her head. Their first dance. He leaned down and nuzzled her throat, and it felt exquisite. “You’re a good dancer,” she said.
“Everyone seems to think so,” he agreed with a chuckle in his voice.
The comment brought her back to earth and her eyes flew open. Feeling slightly frantic, she looked around and saw furtive glances darting in her direction. “Let’s go get something to drink,” she said, pulling away from him.
