Come Morning

by Pat Warren

  A safe topic. She welcomed it. “Jeremy’s is one of the largest homes in the area. Have you been out on the widow’s walk? He took me up there once when I was about twelve. I was pretty imaginative and after that, I spent hours weaving fanciful tales in my head.”

  Sitting down at the table, he unwrapped the cookies. “I guess you’re a romantic. Do you think women really used those walks to watch for ships?”

  “Oh, sure. Nantucket was once the whaling capital of the world. That’s why there’re so many cobblestone streets, so they could accommodate the heavy oil carts. I’m sure those roof walks were used a lot by worried wives waiting for their men to return.” She carried cool glasses of lemonade over and sat down.

  “So then my father’s house must date back to what, the 1800s?”

  “Probably. Renovated several times, of course.” She picked up a cookie, bit into it, nearly purring at the taste of still-warm chocolate.

  Slade followed suit, watching her. “I see you love chocolate.”

  “Mmm, nature’s most perfect food.” She smiled, then brushed crumbs from her lips. Finding them slightly bruised, she felt a blush begin, remembering how they’d gotten that way. Not looking at him, she carefully set down the uneaten half of her cookie. “One more time, then we’ll let it go. Thank you for understanding my … my actions, for coming to my aid when I sort of lost it there.”

  “Lady, you don’t need this tarnished knight to come to your aid. You’re handling things far better than most people could.”

  She was uncomfortable with that, didn’t feel she deserved his praise. So she switched the focus. “I saw you climb the tree for Annie’s kitten. It seems you help out damsels in distress and rescue defenseless animals. Do you also leap tall buildings with a single bound?”

  But Slade wasn’t smiling. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re doing an incredible job handling a devastating situation, Briana.”

  She looked up then, into his eyes. “I wish I thought so. Every time I think I’ve got things under control, something happens and I lose it.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself.” He shifted his gaze out the window, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “I know someone who lost a child a while back and all she’s able to do is sit and stare for hours on end. There aren’t any guidelines, no right way or wrong way to handle yourself after a personal tragedy. Not for any of the parties involved.” Including the person who caused the tragedy.

  Briana studied his profile, the stubborn tilt to his chin, the worry lines at the corners of his eyes. “You sound as if you’re speaking from personal experience.”

  Taking in a deep breath, he turned back, picked up his glass. “Bad things happen to good people, haven’t you heard? Someone even wrote a book about it. I…”

  The sharp ringing of the doorbell had both of them turning to gaze through the archway toward the front. “Expecting someone?”

  “Not really, but a few of Gramp’s friends have been dropping in to ask how he’s doing.” Briana rose and headed for the door.

  Following, Slade looked through the screen door and saw a man of average height wearing a three-piece suit and a big smile. As he watched, the man shoved the door open impatiently and pulled a startled Briana to him.

  “Brie, I’ve missed you.” With that, he took her mouth in a hard kiss.

  Chapter Five

  Annoyed and embarrassed, Briana shoved away from Craig and stared at him as she struggled with the urge to wipe away a kiss she’d never wanted. A flush stained her cheeks. “What was that all about?”

  “Letting you know how much I missed you.” His eyes roamed down to her bare feet and back up. “You look great”

  Stepping back, she drew in a calming breath, hanging on to her temper by a thread. In all the years she’d known Craig Walker, going back to when he’d been Robert’s best man at their wedding, he’d never kissed her other than on a cheek. What had gotten into him? And why was he here when she’d all but ordered him to stay away? “What are you doing in Nantucket?”

  His boyish face turned serious. “Your mother’s worried about you. I told her I’d come see how you’re doing.” As if suddenly noticing they weren’t alone, Craig shifted his gaze to the tall man with the cool, measuring eyes and held out his hand. “Craig Walker. And you are?”

  “Slade.” Reluctantly, he shook Craig’s hand, wondering why he’d taken an instant dislike to the man. Obviously he was more than a passing acquaintance of Briana’s. That kiss had been much more than friendly, and she’d seemed embarrassed that he’d been here to witness it. None of his business, Slade thought. However, for someone who’d just buried her husband a few months ago, she certainly hadn’t wasted much time. Earlier, she’d all but ripped off his clothes, and now this. Maybe he’d been wrong about Briana Morgan. Funny, he wouldn’t have figured her for someone loose with her affections.

  “Slade lives next door,” Briana said absently, still wondering what to make of Craig’s unexpected visit. She wasn’t fond of uninvited drop-ins. And she didn’t buy the story of her mother worrying. She’d just spoken with Martha Gifford yesterday. “He’s helping me fix up Gramp’s house.”

  One hand in his trouser pocket jiggling his change, Craig glanced around the room, then back at Briana. “Good idea. Sell it and come home. Everyone misses you.”

  Not sure exactly who everyone was, Briana was nonetheless irritated at anyone trying to make up her mind for her. “As I told you on the phone, I haven’t made any definite plans.”

  Slade decided two was company and three definitely a crowd. “Listen, you two have some catching up to do and I’ve got to be going. Briana, I’ll see you later.”

  Oddly, she didn’t want him to go, but she didn’t know what to say to make him stay. “We’ll finish later, then?”

  “Sure.” With a nod toward Craig, Slade stepped out onto the porch.

  “Good meeting you,” Craig said, smiling now that the guy was going.

  “Yeah, same here,” Slade called over his shoulder.

  Trying to make the best of an awkward, unwanted situation, Briana looked Craig over. His hair was trimmed to perfection, his tanned face radiating good health, his smile confident. His linen suit and paisley tie were gorgeous and as out of place on this resort island as a belly dancer at a bar mitzvah. “Now tell me, what are you really doing here?”

  Craig managed to look wounded. “I told you the truth. I talked with your mother and she’s worried. I offered to fly over and make sure you’re all right. Plus, I really do miss you.”

  They’d hardly ever seen each other when she was in Boston, except that after Robert died, Craig had made it a point to phone more frequently and come by occasionally. What was all this “missing you” business? Brushing back her hair, Briana walked to the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of lemonade?” He had to be hot wearing all those clothes, yet he gave off no sign. Didn’t the man sweat?

  “Hey, that’d be great.” Strolling after her, his gaze slid over old-fashioned wallpaper to the worn linoleum floor and an imitation Tiffany lamp over the kitchen table. “Did you call in a contractor to update this place? Probably won’t sell unless you modernize it. As is, you’ll undoubtedly take a loss.”

  Briana’s look was sharp as she handed him the lemonade. “My grandfather’s not dead, Craig. The home isn’t mine to sell.”

  He had the good grace to look chagrined. “Of course. But your mother did say it would be yours, and I just thought… well, surely you don’t intend to live here.”

  She sat down at the kitchen table, trying to come up with words he might understand and believe. “Craig, let’s get something straight. I’m a grown woman and I make my own decisions. I may go back, or I may stay. I haven’t made up my mind. While I appreciate my mother’s concern, I can’t run my life based on what she wants for me. Nor on what you think is best.”

  He took the chair opposite her, gazing down into his glass. “You’re right. I was merely voicing her concern. Don’
t shoot the messenger.” He sent her a look tinged with sadness. “And it hasn’t been that long since … since you lost your family. Forgive me if I worry about my best friend’s wife.”

  Her eyes were steady, unwavering. “That’s kind of you, but I’d appreciate it if you’d honor my wishes. I told you back in Boston and again on the phone, stop worrying about me, especially since friendship is all I can offer you. That’s all I’ll ever feel for you. If you can accept that, fine. If you’re looking for more, well, you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

  “I have accepted that.” Though he was certain, in time, after the grieving, she’d come around. Craig never had trouble attracting women, but this woman was truly a challenge. Maybe that’s why he wanted her so badly.

  “Really? Then what was that kiss all about?”

  He ducked his head, again looking down at his glass. “I don’t know. I saw you through the screen and I just lost my head.” And he’d caught a glimpse of her tall friend and wanted to let the guy know he’d best back off. “You’re very beautiful, you know.”

  Very beautiful, with eyes puffy from her earlier tears, her face too pale, her figure far too thin? There was a time she might have believed herself fairly attractive, but not today, Briana thought.

  She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not in the mood for flattery, especially when it’s unfounded. I’m going through a bad time, Craig, and I’m not very good company.” As Slade certainly found out.

  As if reading her mind, he glanced out the kitchen window where the man who’d just left was setting out a lawn chair, wearing only a pair of cutoff shorts. “I guess your neighbor thinks you’re good company.”

  “I just met Slade a couple of days ago. He offered to help me paint and…” Briana got up, her patience gone. “Look, Craig, I don’t owe anyone explanations about what I’m doing here or about my neighbors. And I resent—”

  “Truce, truce.” Craig held out both hands, suddenly contrite. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. Briana, can we begin again? I just flew over for a couple of days in the sun. I landed this morning and checked into this terrific place on Broad Street, the Nesbitt Inn. The owners gave me directions to your place and I walked over even before changing clothes. I was anxious to see you. But if you don’t have time for me, I’ll just go sightseeing on my own or whatever. I don’t want to add to your problems.”

  How was it that everyone knew just how to push her buttons? Briana wondered. She wanted to work on the house, but what could another day or two matter? Remembering how wonderful Craig had been when she’d badly needed someone after the accident, she relented. “I’m sorry, too. I’m a little on edge. Why don’t you go back to the inn, change out of your traveling duds, and I’ll come pick you up in about an hour. I’ll give you a brief tour and maybe we can have dinner somewhere.”

  There was relief in Craig’s smile. “Great.” He spotted a camera on the kitchen counter. “Been taking any new pictures?” He strolled over and picked up the Nikon, checking it over.

  She kept all her cameras loaded and ready in case an unexpected opportunity presented itself. However, picture taking had been the furthest thing from her mind lately. “No.”

  “Why don’t you bring this along, then? I left in a hurry and forgot my camera. I should at least show the folks back home that I’ve been here.”

  She hadn’t wanted to even hold a camera in weeks, the very act taking her right back to that dreadful morning. Still, she’d have to sooner or later. Perhaps it was time. “All right.” She walked him to the door. “I’ll see you in an hour, then.”

  “I’ll be ready.” Craig paused, his hazel eyes again serious. “Are we all right, Briana? I apologize again for coming on too strong.”

  “We’re fine, really.” From the porch, she watched him stroll off down the street, letting out a big sigh. She trailed her hand along the smooth wood where Slade had sanded. Truth be known, she’d prefer finishing up here instead of sightseeing. But the doctor had warned her against becoming reclusive, which usually led to brooding. He’d advised her to get out among people.

  All right, she’d go, Briana thought, walking inside to change. And she’d steer Craig away from difficult topics.

  Gramp’s blue Buick scooted along the coastal road with Briana behind the wheel rattling off bits of trivia for her avid audience of one. “Herman Melville based his novel Moby Dick on the Essex, a Nantucket whaling ship that was rammed by a whale off the coast of South America in the early 1800s. They say that a mate from the Essex who kept the ship’s log survived to tell the tale to Melville, who then wrote the book.”

  “And that’s a true story?” Craig said, stretching his arm along the seatback, angling his body so he could look at Briana.

  “Absolutely. Two other Nantucket ships, the Beaver and the Dartmouth, were involved in the Boston Tea Party. Lots of history on this island.”

  Craig gazed out at the waves rolling endlessly in to shore. “I can see why you like it here.”

  With the windows down, Briana let the warm sea air blow her hair about. “It’s beautiful, sure, but that’s not why I love it here. Boston’s beautiful, too, in its own way. And so’s Manhattan. Nantucket’s like a safe haven. Nothing really terrible ever happens here, as it does with alarming frequency on the mainland.” Checking the rearview mirror, she changed lanes to pass a slow-moving van.

  Craig was fairly certain she was referring to the shooting. “I doubt that there’s no crime at all, even here, Briana. What happened on the Common was a freak accident. Bobby and Robert were two people in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Briana felt a muscle in her cheek clench. “I’m aware of that. Drive-by slayings are happening more and more frequently. Ugly, violent people are almost everywhere.”

  “And you think this place is sacrosanct, that if you stay here, you’ll be safe from violence?”

  She gave him a quick, disdainful glance. “Hardly. But here, I’m not reminded daily of all the ugliness that’s out there. Whether it’s true or not, I feel safer.”

  This was a no-win argument, Craig decided, so he changed the subject. “There’s another lighthouse up ahead. Have you ever been inside one?”

  “Yes. Gramp got permission to take me into the one near his house at Brant Point when I was ten or so.” She smiled at the memory. “Steep, winding staircase, all sorts of equipment at the top to track ships and the weather. And a fantastic view.”

  “Do you think we could stop and take a picture of this one?”

  “Sure. That’s Great Point Lighthouse. We’re on the northern tip of the island.” She glanced down at his Gucci loafers. “I don’t know how close you want to get, but it’s mostly sand and scrub grass around the base. You might ruin your shoes.”

  “I’ll manage,” he answered, reaching for her camera case in the back. “Hey, this is heavy. You have more than one camera in here?”

  “I’m not even sure what’s in there. I grabbed the case at the last minute when I was leaving Boston and I haven’t looked inside except to take out my Nikon. I’d planned to take it on my beach walk the other day, but I got sidetracked.” At the last minute, she hadn’t been able to make herself pick up the camera. She pulled off the road and brought the Buick to a stop, then took the case from him. Removing the Nikon, she checked the gauges. “This film’s been in here awhile, but it should be all right.” It actually felt good in her hands, familiar.

  “Let me take a couple of you,” Craig said, getting out on his side.

  “No, this is your vacation. Besides, I’m the photographer, remember?” They strolled toward the deserted lighthouse, Briana’s sandals skimming the sand while Craig’s loafers were slowly filling up. She tried not to smile.

  “You sure can’t complain about the weather,” Craig commented, brushing back his sandy hair. “Is it this nice always?”

  “It gets cold in the winter and there’s even snow, but not a great deal. Fall’s the rainy season, starting in mid-September. Every cou
ple of years, they get some really rough storms.”

  Craig spotted a purplish-pink wildflower and stooped to look closer. “What’s this?”

  “Heather, like on the moors of Scotland. Some long-ago visitor must have brought some over and started a strain.” She stopped, placing the strap of the Nikon around her neck, raising the camera up to eye level, testing the light Her love of cameras, of photography, came creeping back. Yes, it was going to be all right. “Is this close enough?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He walked over aways, then turned around. “Ready when you are.”

  Briana took her time lining up the shot thinking that the camera felt good in her hands. She focused on Craig with his perfect hair windblown, hands crammed in the pockets of his pressed khakis, Gucci’s nearly buried in sand, and the lighthouse in the background. She took several shots, then changed the angle, shifted, and took a few more. “There, that should prove to one and all that you were here.”

  “Is that the end of the roll, or can we take some more in town?”

  Climbing back into the Buick, Briana put the camera in her case. “There’s more. Do you want to see the other side of the island? There’re these great cranberry bogs.”

  Craig closed his door. “You bet That is, if you have the time.”

  She owed him this much, this day, she supposed. He was trying to be a friend, distracting her. “No problem.”

  “I heard at the inn that the lobster dinners at a place called Vincent’s are the best. Have you eaten there?”

  “No, but most of the places on the island serve fantastic seafood. We can try Vincent’s.”

  “Great. Let’s check out the other side, then I’ll take you to dinner. How many lobsters can you eat at one setting?” His smile was teasing.

  “Maybe one, certainly not more. How about you?”

  “Two, possibly two and a half. I remember once, Robert and I were walking around Faneuil Hall and… hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  “No, it’s all right. Tell me.” Briana steeled herself for the story, determined to get used to hearing both names without weeping. She simply would have to.