Return to Pelican Inn (Love by Design)

by Dana Mentink

  The crowd was thinning. Families with little ones began to head back to Main Street, carrying their sleepy children. The older clientele moved away behind the high-tide line, watching the decorated boats out on the water blink to life as they turned on their strings of lights.

  Manny and Bitsy occupied a set of striped folding chairs that Cy had schlepped to the beach for them. They held foam cups, and Manny held his up as she approached. “Tea, princess?”

  “No, thank you,” Rosa said, though the temperature was cooling rapidly, making her wish she had thought to bring a sweater. “I think I’ll head home. Will you be all right to walk back?”

  “Of course.” Manny patted Bitsy’s leg. “I’ll be sure she gets home safely.”

  Bitsy flashed him a smile and gave Rosa a small, secret nod. Rosa knew what Bitsy meant, that she would be sure of the same thing for Rosa’s muddled father. An ache settled in behind her ribcage.

  “Good night, then,” she said. Turning away, she started her lonely trudge up the beach as shadows swallowed up the shimmering grains of sand.

  “Hey,” a voice said, as she passed an old concrete piling left over from a pier that had long ago washed away.

  Pike disconnected himself from the darkness.

  “I thought you were hanging out with Eva.” Did her tone sound bitter? Catty? She wished her filter would kick in before her mouth did.

  “She went home.” His eyes were black as obsidian in the dusk. “I was waiting for you.”

  Her heart sped up, the fickle thing. “Why?”

  “Because I want to show you something, unless you’re in a hurry to get back to your carpet squares.”

  She suspected sarcasm, but there wasn’t any in his tone. “Okay, I guess, if it doesn’t take too long.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  “Go where?”

  “A little way up the beach.” He paused. “Come on, Rosa. I’m not the night stalker.”

  She fell into step next to him and together they made their way along the edge of the surf, avoiding the rolling waves that broke on the sand. As they chugged along, she felt the pull of him drawing her close, like the tide sucking the sand sculptures back out to sea.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she blurted out.

  “Do? About what?”

  “About you and my dad and all the hatred between you, and the interloper thing, and the ways you were cruel to me and the fact that you’re nice now—at least sometimes—and the guilt I feel that I threw a stapler at you.”

  She clapped her mouth shut. He smiled, teeth glinting white. “That was a lot to get off your chest. Do you feel better?”

  “Not better, confused.”

  He took her hand and helped her climb over a log half-buried in the sand. Then he pulled her close and her pulse ricocheted in her veins. “I feel confused, too,” he said. “Not about your father. His disease doesn’t erase any animosity I feel for him. But you’re a different story.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when you were in the past, I could remember you being proud, mouthy, stubborn, annoying, all the things from high school.”

  She swallowed. It was not a time in her life she wanted to revisit.

  “But now,” he continued. “You’re not all of those things.”

  Her pulse grew louder in her ears, rushing along at a feverish clip. “You don’t think so?”

  “Oh, you’re still stubborn and sometimes annoying, all right, but you’re different.”

  “How?”

  His brow furrowed in thought. “I guess I’m seeing you through a different lens now, as someone who loves my aunt and your father, in your own way.”

  “But you hate my father.”

  “Yes, but I admire that you don’t, especially when you’ve got plenty of reasons to justify hatred.”

  For so many years, she’d thought she had plenty of justification. She’d nursed those reasons, brooding and tending them like a cradle full of snakes. She was justified in hating her father for what he had done, but the snakes seemed to have left and taken their poison with them, slithering off to parts unknown and leaving a void that pulsed with uncertain emotion. She sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve despised him for so long, how could I love him now?”

  “Things change,” he said, gathering her up to his chest. He ran his hands, warm and strong, up and down her back. And then, with no more preamble, he pulled her close and kissed her. Shivers ran up her back and raced through her limbs. So easy to get lost in that warmth, the tide of comfort. So easy to lose yourself. She pulled away.

  “You aren’t supposed to do that, remember?” she gasped.

  “Why do I feel like I want to kiss you all the time, Rosa?”

  “You shouldn’t, but maybe it’s because I am your unrequited high school love.”

  “No, that’s not it. I don’t even like you, do I?”

  “No, and I don’t like you, either.”

  “And your father and I despise each other.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m bent on selling the inn in spite of your conviction that Bitsy can keep it.”

  “Yep, and just two hours ago I wanted to smack you for abusing my father.”

  His head dropped. “Even though he completely deserves it, I’m ashamed of that because it hurt you. Something about Manny brings out the worst in my character.”

  “And mine, sometimes,” she admitted. “But you see what I mean? I don’t want a connection with you. And to be honest, it wasn’t that long ago that I wanted to run you over with my car.”

  He laughed. “Lawyers have that effect on people.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “What really happened between you and Foster?”

  She looked into his brown eyes for a long time before she took a deep breath and told him everything.

  “Wow,” Pike said. “What a slimeball. Would it help to point out that I’m not Foster Pardee?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got to put every ounce of effort into winning this contest. That’s got to be my focus right now. My business is all I have.”

  “Fair enough.” They continued walking. “I’ll keep my kisses to myself, since we’re still sort of enemies and all.”

  Crueler words were never spoken, but Rosa took a strengthening breath and soldiered on, her nerves still a jumbled mess. With a shiver, she followed him up a small hill to a wood-sided shack, roofed in tar paper.

  “What’s in there?” she asked.

  He pushed open the door and flicked on a light switch that activated a bare bulb slung from the ceiling. In the moonlight, Pike Matthews was impossibly handsome. Wide shoulders, long legs, those arms she longed for and feared. That smile, devastating, that she knew would inhabit her dreams. “Come inside, why don’t you?” he said.

  Her quivering inner voice added the rest.

  Said the spider to the fly.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE SHACK SMELLED of old wood and damp earth. It was cold, though the walls were in a condition good enough to muffle the roar of the sea. Rosa thought she heard an insect buzz, which stalled her in the threshold until she realized it was the hum of the old lightbulb, so she stepped inside. Raised on blocks in the middle of the floor was what had previously been a boat.

  Now it was the merest outline of a seaworthy vessel, the boards cracked and warped, some completely missing from the body of the craft, leaving dark holes like missing teeth.

  Pike beamed, running his hands over the nautical skeleton.

  She was not sure what brought the naked joy to his face. “So...it was a boat?”

  He nodded. “She is a boat. Don’t you recognize her?”

  Rosa looked closer. “Er, not really. Is she yours?”

  “
Uh-huh. I shouldn’t have spent the money, probably, but she’s mine, every decrepit splinter of her since last year when I bought her.”

  Rosa chewed her lip. “Well, I hope you got a bargain because this boat is a little, um, distressed.”

  “You would be too if you sank before you found your way to a salvage yard.”

  She gasped. “This is...?”

  “Poppy’s Dream.”

  She looked at the old wreck with new eyes. What had been, a moment before, only a pile of ruined wood, was now something altogether different. “Oh, wow. Can you fix it?”

  “Eventually, I’ll restore her.” He sighed. “I don’t have the cash or the time right now, but the guy who owns this shack lets me keep her here in exchange for some legal advice.”

  “Do you know how to restore a boat?”

  “No, but I’m learning. Bought every book Julio’s got on the subject, and I visit the shipyards whenever I can to see what I can find out.” He wiped some dust off the exposed wood. “I’m going to captain this boat again one day, Rosa,” he said. “Do you think that sounds nuts?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And I’m thrilled for you.”

  A smile crept over his face. “You are?”

  She nodded. “I remember how you were when you sailed her. There was something different about you then. You were relaxed.” She searched for the words. “It was as if you were at home.”

  “Same way you look when you’re decorating.”

  She shrugged. “I’m always trying to turn a place into a home.”

  “Why, do you think?” He glanced again at the ruined boat. “Why do you and I have to seek out our homes? Why aren’t we happy where we are?”

  Rosa picked up a bent nail and twirled it between her fingers. “Mom said home is where the heart is. Maybe we just haven’t let our hearts come to rest anywhere, yet.” The conversation was getting far too deep, too intimate, for Rosa’s comfort. She put the nail on top of an upended crate and steered them back onto safe ground.

  “I’m glad you found Poppy’s Dream again, Pike.”

  “Me, too. My dad was proud of himself for buying this boat, but he never loved it like I did. To him it was a possession, something people own when they live on the coast. Maybe a way to show off.”

  “Did he teach you to sail?”

  “A little, but it was mostly Rocky, before he was deployed and then while he was back on leave.”

  “Rocky? Really? I had no idea.”

  “Rocky’s an excellent sailor and he never took a penny for all the lessons. I...never gave him enough credit.” He shrugged. “Ah, let’s be honest. I was arrogant. He doesn’t have a higher education, no ambitious plans, doesn’t even own a car, and I looked down on him for that. Stupid of me, because I’ve come to learn the guy is way smarter and more noble than I’ll ever be.” Pike’s face clouded. “I hate to think of him losing his job when the inn is sold.”

  “Maybe we can think of something to help him and Stu,” she said, taking his hand.

  He squeezed her fingers. “Ever the optimist, Rosa.”

  “If you can look at this wreck and see a boat, I’d say you’re an optimist, too.”

  He laughed. “No, I’m a lawyer, and I’ve got some emails to return, so I’d better get you back to the inn.”

  He carefully locked the door of the shack behind them.

  “Afraid someone’s going to steal it?”

  “Lost Poppy’s Dream once,” he said. “I don’t want to do it again.”

  * * *

  AS FORECAST, THE weather began a slow change the following morning, which lowered the volume of people seeking cocoa handouts. Even so, Rosa was kept busy filling cups, replenishing toilet paper and preventing Baggy from scaring the children. By late afternoon, black clouds billowed over the horizon, promising a nasty storm.

  Rosa went into the garden to check on Cy, who was attaching nails to his evolving mirror project. Stu, gloves in place, removed nails one by one from a brimming bucket and laid them out in neat rows for Cy to glue down.

  “How did you collect so many nails?” Rosa asked.

  Cy grinned. “Stu found a bunch, and then I offered the festival-goers a deal.”

  “What kind of a deal?”

  “Dad hinged the top of the window seat, so I let the kids crawl down below with a lantern. Five minutes, and all they had to do was find a few nails to pay for their adventure.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. They loved it and the parents got five minutes to sit down. Some even encouraged their kids to go for two tries. Slick, huh?”

  “Huck Finn couldn’t have done it better.”

  “That was Tom Sawyer, and I think I’d better get moving.”

  The frame was nearly done when the first drops of rain began to fall. Rosa helped Cy move the nail art into the house. Since the stream of guests had slowed to a trickle, she’d finished the carpet tiles and was almost through applying the juicy pale plum color to the bathroom. The smell of garlic and herbs drew her into the kitchen.

  Bitsy whistled cheerfully as she put a roast into the oven to cook for dinner.

  “Where’s Dad? I haven’t seen him today.” Rosa snitched a clump of grapes from the fruit bowl.

  “Taking a nap, I think,” she said. “We stayed out late last night to watch the boats. Too late, probably.”

  Rosa’s mind turned back to an earlier conversation. “Bitsy, do you remember when Dad came to see you, claiming he had proof about Ben sinking the boat?”

  Her hand froze above the oven dial. Then she gave it a twist. “I’m not sure. That was a long time ago.”

  “He came to you and said he had photos proving that your brother sank Poppy’s Dream.”

  “Scuttled is the technical term,” Pike said as he stepped into the kitchen in yet another pair of pristine painter’s overalls. “You must remember it Bitsy, unless Manny dreamed up the whole thing.”

  “He’s confused now,” she snapped. “Don’t make fun of him for it.”

  He frowned. “You know that’s not what I’m saying. This is an accusation from years ago and Manny lost his job over it, or so he says. What happened?”

  “It’s old business. Why does it matter now?”

  “It matters,” he said grimly. “I want to stop obsessing. My father wasn’t a criminal, was he?”

  She wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “I remember that he came to the house and talked to Leo and me. Manny was regretful, not gloating, Pike. I want you to know that. He was almost sad to tell me about your father.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Anyway, he said he had photos that proved the boat was tampered with. He had another stop to make, and then he’d take the photos to be developed.”

  Rosa wanted to stop the line of questioning, as it was obviously agitating Bitsy. “We can talk later, Aunt Bitsy.”

  “No,” Pike said. “Now. What did you say?”

  “I told him he was mistaken, that no matter how it looked, Ben did not commit fraud. He wouldn’t do that, especially when he knew how much the boat meant to you, Pike. The proof was stolen out of Manny’s car, he told us later.” She began to polish the handle of the stove.

  “That was rather convenient,” Pike said. “Don’t you think? This supposed proof disappears from his car?”

  “Pike Eugene Matthews. Manny is not a liar. As you said, he lost his job over that missing proof.”

  Pike blew out an exasperated breath and ran his hands through his hair, which only served to enhance his boyish charm. “You’ve already said you believe my dad wasn’t lying, so which is it? Manny and my father can’t both be telling the truth. That’s a logical fallacy.”

  “Young man,” she said archly, “you are my lawyer, so you will understand why I
’m invoking my right to remain silent. I have potatoes to mash, green beans to string, and if you want to discuss the apple cobbler recipe then stick around and we’ll chat. Otherwise, please remove yourself from my kitchen, posthaste.”

  Pike and Rosa exchanged a look and followed orders, stopping in the foyer.

  “She would have made a great lawyer,” Pike said.

  “I didn’t know your middle name was Eugene.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’ll need to take the fifth on that one, too, if anybody asks.”

  “Or what?” She pointed to the brush in his hand. “You’ll prime and paint me?”

  He gave her a wolfish smile, which made her regret her teasing tone. Don’t let Pike take away your dream.

  “I’m helping Rocky finish up the outside, but we had to stop because it’s raining,” Pike said.

  “Maybe it will clear up in a little while.”

  “TV guy says it’s a whopper of a storm with another right behind it. Uncharacteristic of the season.”

  “That figures.”

  * * *

  PIKE HAD VANISHED outside to help Rocky bring painting supplies to the shed. It was just as well. Flashes from the night before kept chasing each other around in Rosa’s mind, leaving her with a head full of fog. There was no place in her life right now for a heart stuffed with emotional goo. She’d finally got that stubborn organ hardened and sealed over, and there was no way she would let anyone flay it open again.

  She returned to the upstairs bathroom to apply one more coat of a soft satin paint to the ceiling. The old steel cabinet fixtures had already been swapped out for some rustic pulls and the floor overlaid with Marmoleum panels to give the illusion of a painted wood floor without the expense. Even through the plastic tarp, it looked fantastic. Cy’s nail mirror above the sink would enhance the feel she liked to call “refined rustic” and, at the same time, magnify the space.

  The decorating details soothed her until she saw the little bead of paint oozing from underneath the lovely antique lamp set into the ceiling.

  “I must be tired to leave a drip,” she grumped, pulling over the stepstool and climbing up. She reached out with the paintbrush to dab the drop away. It left an oozy smear. She checked her brush. Perfectly normal. No contaminants from the bristles to explain the weird residue.