A Small-Town Reunion

by Terry McLaughlin

  Johnnie Murphy was still tending bar here, too. He leaned on the counter, close enough to his customers to catch an order but far enough away to avoid any conversation that might start up between innings. Johnnie wasn’t into idle chat. Why he’d chosen employment in a pub was one of life’s mysteries.

  “Hey, Dev.” Johnnie nodded as Dev took a stool down at his end, far from the sports fans. “Heard you were back.”

  “Yeah.” Dev gave his order and watched Johnnie pour a finger of whiskey into a thick glass. “Pretty quiet around here.”

  “Summer’s always slow. Students on vacation, locals at their summer cabins.”

  “Never could figure out the appeal of a summer cabin.” Dev spun his glass on the counter. “Makes you feel obligated to take the same vacation, over and over. You got one?” he asked.

  “A cabin? Would I be here if I did?” Johnnie trudged off to check on his other customers. It was a tough choice between tolerating aimless sports chatter and having to make small talk, but in the end the bartender drifted back Dev’s way.

  “Got a friendly poker game going up at my place the past couple of weeks,” Dev said. “Nickel bets,” he added when Johnnie didn’t respond. “Nothing to give the women back home anything to worry about.”

  Johnnie gave him a bland stare.

  Dev sipped his drink. “One of the guys said he’d heard a rumor about some high-stakes card games around the Cove.”

  Johnnie lowered his gaze and rubbed at an invisible spot with his clean white cloth. “Might have heard the same rumor.”

  Dev took another sip and waited.

  “Couple of big-shot lumbermen had a regular game going in a suite at the Cove Redwood Inn.” Johnnie’s gaze flicked up to meet Dev’s for a second. “But that was a few years back.”

  “Back when my dad was still alive?”

  “Yeah. Back then.”

  At least nine years ago. “Nothing since?”

  Johnnie flipped the cloth over his shoulder, placed his palms against the edge of the counter and leaned toward Dev. The bartender’s expression was less welcoming than usual. “You thinking I might know how to hook you up with something like that?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Johnnie stalked off to watch the silent game on the screen above the bar.

  Dev wasn’t all that sure the bartender would return to this end of the counter any time soon. He sat and stared at the bottles clogging the shelves around the mirror. Probably the same bottles that had been there for years, too.

  He shoved his drink aside and let his mind wander through the memories this place had jogged loose. Challenging Bud to a game of pool to see which one of them was going to run a stolen crab pot up Mrs. Stelzer’s flagpole. Dancing oh-so-slow on this sticky floor, his hand spread over Shelley Terzian’s soft butt while he tried to figure out the logistics of sex in a sports car.

  The tune in the jukebox changed to one he’d heard the night he’d watched geeky Alan Schwartz lead Addie onto the floor of the high school gym for her first homecoming dance. She’d been so pretty that night, all dolled up in her strapless pink dress, her long hair pinned up in the kind of tangle that made a guy want to release it. Dev’s date had fumed on the sidelines and then stomped off to the ladies’ room when he’d leaned against the wall to watch the dance instead of taking to the floor, too.

  He should tell Addie about his research, tell her what he’d discovered so far about her mother and his father. He was beginning to feel guilty about keeping this from her, worried how she’d react if she found out what he’d been up to.

  Tomorrow. He’d tell her tomorrow. If he got a chance. And the timing was right. If she—

  Coward.

  He glanced at Johnnie, who was still pretending an interest in the game. Eventually the bartender would be forced to head back Dev’s way, if only to kick him out the door at closing time.

  Dev took one last sip, barely wetting his lips. He hadn’t come in to drink, and he didn’t want the rest of the whiskey. He’d wanted to find out whether his father had enjoyed the occasional poker game, too. Johnnie might not have answered all of his questions or revealed the names of the men involved, but he’d confirmed Rusty’s rumor.

  And there were only two big-shot lumbermen who’d been friends of Jonah Chandler.

  FIVE MINUTES AFTER Addie had slipped into her apartment on Monday to nuke some leftover pizza for a late-afternoon snack, the bell rang above her door. She dashed back into her shop to find Dev standing near the entry and holding two cones from the ice-cream parlor down the street.

  He nodded at one of the cones. “Double fudge ripple.”

  He’d remembered her favorite. Ridiculously pleased, she crossed the shop, but he lifted the cone out of reach before she could take it.

  “Not so fast,” he said. “These are outside cones. The ice cream loses its flavor indoors.”

  “I have to work.”

  “That’s all you ever do. Work, work, work.”

  “Bills, bills, bills,” she answered.

  “I’ll make it up to you.” He took a slow, sensual taste of the other cone, the expression in his eyes hot enough to melt the ice cream.

  She swallowed. “How will you do that?”

  “I’m working on it. I can be productive, too.”

  He stepped outside, and since he’d taken her double fudge ripple with him, she had no choice but to follow. She flipped her sign to Closed, locked her door and collected her cone.

  He took her hand and led her on a casual stroll down Cove Street, as if they were two tourists window-shopping their way toward the waterfront. “When was the last time you left your shop?” he asked.

  “On Saturday. For Charlie’s wedding shower.” She licked her ice cream and enjoyed the sensations of coolness inching down her throat and sunshine warming her skin. And his strong fingers laced through hers. Gulls glided overhead, screaming abuse at a fisherman dumping his bait in the bay.

  It should be a simple, natural thing to hold a man’s hand on a walk like this, but this was Dev’s hand. There had never been anything simple about being with Dev, and nothing natural about their relationship.

  “Not yesterday?” he asked.

  “There wasn’t any need. I’ve got food in the fridge and plenty of work to keep me busy.”

  “It was beautiful yesterday.”

  “It’s beautiful today.” She squeezed his hand, delighted with the mild weather and the unexpected treat, with the considerate company and the blissful contentment. “Thank you for reminding me to notice.”

  “You’ve got to get out more.”

  “I’m out now.”

  “So you are.” He grinned at her, and then his step slowed and his smile faded. He seemed to have something on his mind, as though he were about to say—or do—something important. Something very serious. She slowed, too, wondering what would come next.

  He stopped and faced her as she bit into a ribbon of gooey fudge, and he stared at her mouth as she licked a bit of ice cream from her lip.

  Would he kiss her today? Was that why he’d come? Would he taste of butter pecan and salted air? Would he whisper her name again and make her melt against him?

  “Addie,” he said as he leaned closer.

  “Yes?”

  He hesistated. Straightened.

  “How are the windows coming?”

  Geneva’s windows. He’d come to check on her progress, not to kiss her. “Fine.”

  “Not keeping you from enjoying life and getting out once in a while, I hope.”

  “No.” She tossed the remains of the cone to the complaining gulls. “But I’d better get back.”

  “I made a solid start on my story today.” He told her about the characters, gesturing with his cone and with their joined hands as they started back toward her shop. She waited for him to release his grip on her, but he never did. He’d never touched her for so long before today.

  She should be grateful for that, she told herself.
It was a start. What that start was, she had no idea. Nothing simple, that was for sure.

  Dev stopped on the corner one block from her shop. “Is that Lena?”

  Addie watched her mother get out of her car and head toward A Slice of Light. Childish panic tugged her hand from Dev’s. “Yes.”

  “Looks like she’s waiting for you.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Go ahead.”

  “Dev, I—”

  “It’s all right. ” He backed toward the curb. “Thanks for the walk.”

  “Thanks for the ice cream.”

  She stood in place until he’d ducked around Mona’s coffeeshop, and then she hurried up the street. “Mom. What a nice surprise.”

  “Sorry to bother you right after closing,” Lena said as Addie unlocked the door. Her mother held a plastic-wrapped plate of brownies in her hand. “I’ve been running late all day today.”

  “I’ll forgive you if those are what I think they are.”

  “My frosted double-fudge brownies.” Lena handed Addie the plate and followed her back to the apartment. “Even after cutting the recipe in half, there are still too many for me to eat. But every once in a while I get a craving for them.”

  Addie grinned. “Lucky for me you end up having to share.”

  “Is this your dinner?” Lena pointed to Addie’s pizza with a disapproving look. “You need some vegetables or fruit. I hope you’re taking your vitamins. With the schedule you keep—”

  “Hey, I learned from a pro how to take care of myself.” Addie set the brownies on her compact kitchen counter and poured a glass of the cold brewed tea she kept in her refrigerator. She handed the glass to her mother. “I’d offer you some brownies, but I’ll bet you’ve already had your quota today.”

  “Yes.” Lena took the glass and pressed a hand to her trim waist. “More than I should have. Please, don’t let me keep you.” She waved toward Addie’s cooling dinner.

  “That’s okay. I can reheat it again.” Addie collected her own glass of tea and joined her mother at the little table in the center of her open apartment space. “By the way, Charlie loved the shower gift you sent.”

  “I’m so glad. She’s a sweet girl.”

  “I wish you had come to the party and watched her open it.”

  Lena’s smile disappeared. “You know I’ll have nothing to do with the Chandlers.”

  “Maybe Charlie’s wedding is a good reason to put all that behind you.”

  Addie’s mother slowly spun her glass on the table. “Jonah Chandler ruined my life. He set me up with those checks he made me write, and then he framed me for theft. And Geneva—” Lena paused, her features pinched with strain. “Geneva refused to admit what her son had done.”

  Addie had heard this refrain a dozen times. Her mother seemed to believe that if she told her version of the story often enough, it would eventually become the truth.

  Delusions about the past seemed to be something the Sutton women had in common.

  Seized by a sudden urge to change the pattern, Addie braced herself for her mother’s reaction. “Dev Chandler is one of the students in my stained-glass class,” she said quickly, as if the announcement were a bandage she was ripping off a fresh wound.

  Lena’s mouth firmed in an angry, stubborn line. “I don’t suppose you could have told him you didn’t have room for him in class?”

  “Why would I do that? His tuition money is as good as anyone else’s.”

  “Just like Geneva’s money was good for those repairs. I don’t like this.” Lena rose and walked an aimless path through the apartment. “Dev has always had his eye on you—for no good reason, I’m sure.”

  “Maybe he found me interesting,” Addie said, ignoring the prick at her pride, “or attractive. Maybe he wanted to be my friend.”

  “He was a troublemaker. I’m sure he still is.”

  “He’s a very nice man who is watching his grandmother’s house and pets while she’s gone. And spending his afternoons taking care of Quinn’s little girl.”

  “Why are you defending him?”

  “Because he deserves it. He’s done nothing wrong,” Addie said. “He’s Dev Chandler, not Jonah.”

  Her mother’s obvious shock at Addie’s argument was quickly displaced by guilt-inducing pain, her eyes welling with tears. “Obviously I can no longer advise you to stay away from him,” Lena said. “You’re a grown woman who’s entitled to make her own mistakes. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  She headed toward Addie’s door.

  “Thank you for the brownies,” Addie called after her.

  “You’re welcome,” her mother answered in a strained voice. She closed the shop door behind her with a quiet click.

  Addie rose from her chair, slowly and stiffly, as if she’d aged fifty years since she’d taken her seat. She dumped her dirty dishes in her sink and ran water over them. Her appetite—even for homemade double-fudge brownies with buttercream frosting—had vanished.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DEV FOLLOWED A SHAPELY receptionist down a long, darkly paneled hall on the second floor of the Coast Redwood Products building on Tuesday morning. It was rare to find redwood used so extravagantly, and seeing it crafted in old-fashioned, vertical grooves like this always made him aware of Carnelian Cove’s unique place in the lumber industry.

  “Devlin.” Harve Billings stood as Dev entered his office. He walked around his massive desk, hand extended. “Good to see you again.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Harve.” Dev shook his hand, noticing the white edging the gray in the old lumberman’s hair and the sagging skin below his watery blue eyes. He must have been nearing seventy by now, and he looked it. “I appreciate it,” Dev added.

  Harve waved him toward one of the high-backed leather chairs arranged around a low table in one corner of his office and nodded at the receptionist as she closed the door, shutting them in. “How’s Geneva?” he asked as he settled into a matching chair. “I haven’t seen her since the wine auction. When was that? May? Yes, May, I think.”

  “She’s fine. She’s in the Caribbean, on a cruise.”

  Harve’s chest rose and fell in a series of spasms that passed for a chuckle. “Good for her. She’s got more energy than any two people I know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re not going to ‘sir’ me through the rest of this visit, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Makes me feel older than I already am.” Harve cleared his throat. “And you? What are you up to these days? Still teaching in San Francisco?”

  “I had a couple of classes last term. I thought I’d take a break. Do some writing.”

  “Good, good.” Harve nodded his approval. “Well then,” he said, lacing his fingers across his belly, “what brings you down here?”

  Dev paused. He still hadn’t thought of a subtle way to introduce the topic he wanted to discuss, and Harve hadn’t given him any openings. He was left with no alternative but to simply say it straight out. “Since I’ve been back, a couple of old friends and I have started up a friendly little card game.”

  Harve nodded. His expression didn’t change. Dev wondered if he was seeing Harve’s poker face.

  “Nothing high stakes,” Dev continued. “Nickel and dime antes. Just a social game.”

  Harve nodded again. “Sometimes those are the best kind.”

  “They can be. We’re enjoying it.” Dev lifted an ankle over one knee, settling back. “Sometimes, I imagine, it’s equally enjoyable to play for higher stakes.”

  Harve’s nodding continued. He didn’t say a word.

  “Someone told me there used to be some high-stakes poker here in the Cove,” Dev said. “Years ago.”

  Harve’s nodding stopped, but his expression remained neutral. “I suppose that’s a possibility.”

  “Did you ever hear of any games like that?”

  “Can’t say I did.”

  Cleverly phrased…and a dead end. “
I was wondering if my father ever played.”

  “You could ask Geneva,” Harve pointed out.

  “I don’t remember them discussing it.” Dev smiled. “Poker games—friendly or otherwise—aren’t usually something a man discusses with his mother.”

  “Or his grandmother.”

  Dev smiled and waited. Harve rubbed his thumbs together and smiled back.

  The phone on Harve’s desk buzzed. “Excuse me,” he said as he walked across his office to get it.

  Dev stood and took a closer look at the old photos hanging on Harve’s office walls. Men in mustaches and suspenders and boots, posed around a giant redwood stump. Immense logs stacked behind a black iron steam donkey. A view of Carnelian Cove as it looked one hundred years earlier, showing the commercial buildings along the bay and the gridlike streets of the older neighborhoods nearby.

  “That’s my granddaddy.” Harve rejoined Dev and pointed a thick finger at a different photo, one of a wiry man standing beside a team of oxen. “He worked in a camp out past the bluff.”

  “I wonder if he knew my great-grandfather.”

  Harve continued to stare at the photo. After a few seconds, he let out a long sigh. “Your father was a good friend.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “He had his faults, I suppose, but he meant well. He always meant well.” Harve’s features grew stern. “He had high hopes for you.”

  “I wish I’d known him better.”

  “He died too young, that’s for sure.”

  Harve paced to the window. He shoved his suit jacket back as he slid his hands into his pockets and stared out over the bay. “I’m sure the local authorities would take a dim view of the kind of high-stakes game you’re talking about.”

  “I’m not interested in playing. I know it’s illegal.”

  “Good.” Harve glanced over his shoulder and gave Dev one decisive nod. “Keep that in mind.”