by Fobes, Tracy
“Yup. I heard.” She never looked up from the newspaper.
He groaned aloud. This was usually how she liked to conduct her interrogations: She asked lots of questions but never looked at her suspect. He supposed that the lack of eye contact allowed her to be more ruthless in her questioning—she didn’t have to acknowledge how uncomfortable she was making the accused feel. Silently he reminded himself to go look at a few more apartments next weekend.
His toast popped. He started to butter it.
“You were rude to him, Jake. That’s not how I raised you.” She turned a page of her newspaper and focused on a new article.
“Uncle Martin caught me on a bad night.” He gulped a sip of coffee and eyed the clock.
“You’re going to apologize to him, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll apologize.”
A few moments passed, and then she glanced up at him, briefly, before returning to the newsprint. “What made last night so bad?”
He sighed. He wasn’t about to tell her about his motorcycle stunts or his accident with the deer—he didn’t want to hear her scolding him about safety. He thought of something else and turned to face her, toast and coffee in hand. “I was talking to Alex and Ray last night down at the roadhouse,” he said. “About all of the devastation from Sandy that still hasn’t gotten fixed, and Ray was saying something about the government and insurance companies not paying out enough.”
She continued to look at the newspaper, but something about the way she’d gone still told him that he had every bit of her attention. “Yup, that’s right,” she murmured. “Not everyone had good insurance.”
He shook his head. “It’s just a damned shame, what the storm did to this town. At least Ray found the money to fix his place up,” he continued, then glanced around the nearly-new kitchen, recalling how his mother had also dumped tens of thousands of dollars into repairing the house.
“I know, Jake. It’s been tough for everyone.”
“Yeah, but Ray claims he didn’t get an insurance payout or government money,” he continued. “When I asked him where he’d found the cash to repair the roadhouse, he wouldn’t answer.”
She shook her head, but kept her gaze on the newspaper. “Damned if I know where that old coot gets his money.”
He realized she’d been reading the same article for several minutes now. “Thank God you had good insurance.”
“Mmmm,” she agreed.
He narrowed his eyes. “Mom?”
“What?”
“You had good insurance, right?”
She looked up then, and he saw something dark in her eyes, the same evasiveness and worry he’d seen in Ray’s. “Don’t you have to get to work, Jake?” she asked. “It’s almost six.”
“Answer me, mom. Did your insurance company cover the cost of the repairs on the house?”
“You’ve been gone for ten years. I’ve learned how to get along without you, Jake.”
He shut his mouth and stared at her. Saw that stubborn tightness in her jaw. He knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere for the moment. “I’ll leave it alone for now.”
She shrugged, shook her head, did everything but say tisk tisk. “Just get to work, sweetie.”
“There’s nothing but secrets in this town anymore,” he grumbled.
“Sure. Have a nice day.” She went back to reading her paper.
Annoyed, he finished up his breakfast, put his work boots on, and grabbed the lunch she’d packed him from the refrigerator. Then he was out the door. He pulled his bike out of the garage, mounted it, and was on his way to the construction site moments later.
Although a few leaves were starting to turn, the day still remained very warm for late September. Jake deliberately took Ocean Drive and caught a glimpse of a sky painted with pinks, oranges and grays as the sun rose over the ocean. He made a left onto Queen Street and took it to the end, giving a nod to the Mermaid Inn as he passed it by. Sophia waitressed there now.
Sophia, he thought. The way she’d looked at him last night at Rowdy Ray’s—the hurt in her eyes—still tore at him. She had no right to be hurt, though. They weren’t a couple. And yet, as he pulled up to the construction site, he frowned. He didn’t want her thinking badly of him. He decided to head to the Mermaid Inn for dinner, despite his promise to Alex to leave Sophia alone. Regardless of his and Sophia’s relationship status, he had a fence to mend.
He cruised past the church and parked his bike in front of the half-demolished rectory. Father Al’s former home had nearly been ripped from its foundation as the Atlantic Ocean rose over the dunes and sliced a temporary inlet through the north side of town, dragging half of the rectory 300 feet west in a twelve foot storm surge. At the moment, it looked like a remnant from a war zone—something Jake was far too familiar with. And since Father Al had frequently stepped in and helped Jake and his mom once his dad had passed away, Jake was now eager to return all of those favors and help repair the priest’s home.
He headed over to check in with Tom McKenna, the site supervisor. Tom, a red-headed guy who preferred Carhartts over jeans, was also the owner of the construction company that had won the contract to rebuild the rectory next to Holy Trinity Catholic Church.
The church’s spire gleamed in the brand-new sunshine as he caught up with Tom. Standing next to a half-built wall with an unrolled blueprint between his hands, Tom was glancing at the two by four’s that formed the foundation of the new wall. A few construction workers behind him had already gotten started with a table saw. The scent of freshly-sawed wood perfumed the air.
“Morning,” Jake said. “What’s on tap for today?”
“Let’s get the walls up and the repairs on them done,” Tom replied. “I want to get started on the roof before the end of the week. Rain is coming in next week. Looks like a nor’easter.”
Jake nodded. “You want me on the downstairs or upstairs?”
“How about getting started on framing the second floor? I have a crew of newbies coming in this morning, so I’ll need you to supervise them, too.”
“Sure thing.”
Tom nodded and gave Jake a friendly smile. “Sure glad you came home from the war. You’ve a good head on your shoulders.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
“Wanna grab dinner one of these nights?”
“Sounds good to me.” Jake turned, grabbed his hand tools out of an on-site tool locker, and got to work. He found carpentry relaxing, despite the fact that he often needed to use a helluva lot of muscle. The act of doing something with his hands, of creating, felt very satisfying to him. By the end of the day, he always had something tangible to show for his effort. He became so involved in measuring the locations of anchors, placing straps and tie downs, and doing beam work that he didn’t even notice lunch had arrived. Only the cessation of sawing and hammering alerted him to the fact that the rest of the crew had paused to eat.
He stretched, then climbed down the ladder from the second floor. He saw a few guys eating lunch on the steps of Holy Trinity. Father Al was there too, chatting with them. He grabbed his lunch and headed over to the priest, who he’d seen nearly every day since he’d started work on the rectory.
Father Al’s weathered face broke out into a smile the moment he noticed Jake.
“Hi, Father.”
Father Al sat down on the top step. Jake sat next to him and pulled out his sandwich.
“Ah, a simple bologna sandwich,” the priest observed. “I miss them. My doctor told me to lower my sodium.”
Jake nodded and took a bite. “I’d rather have a hamburger, myself.”
Of Irish descent, Father Al was somewhere in his early to mid-sixties, with gray hair brushed back from his forehead and a broad, ruddy face that was accustomed to a smile. He’d served with the Navy in Vietnam, working as a chaplain; and when he’d left the military, he’d gone straight to the seminary. He was one of the few men besides Ray that Jake felt he could talk to about his combat experience, and know that
the priest understood.
“It’s good to have you home, Jake,” Father Al remarked, not for the first time. “Did you know that for hundreds of years, there’s been nothing but war after war in Afghanistan? They call it the ‘graveyard of empires’--a hopeless place of perpetual conflict.”
“It was a little like Hell on Earth,” Jake observed. “But I had Saint Jude to protect me.”
The priest nodded. “The patron saint of hopeless causes.”
Jake pulled out the medal Father Al had given him from beneath his flannel shirt. He wore it with his dog tags now, although when the priest had first given it to him, he’d worn it alone. It glinted with silvery light in the sunshine. “You must have a lifetime supply of these things. I’ve seen more than one person in town wearing something like it.” He let it drop against his shirt.
Father Al smiled. “I still recall when I gave you yours. Do you?”
“How could I forget? You came down to the police station to bail me out, when my mom refused.”
“Once a week was enough for her,” the priest added. “I had to do it the second time around.”
Jake smiled, but it was bittersweet. His father had been a drunk and a criminal, a hard-core biker who’d fashioned himself after the one-percenters—a group of outlaws who considered themselves the last truly “free” men in America. As such, he hadn’t been home much to participate in Jake’s upbringing. Father Al had stepped into the void his father had left more than once, to provide the support Jake had needed so desperately. “I don’t remember everything you said to me that day, but I do know that I respected you enough to want to try harder, to be a better person.”
“You were an angry teenager, but who isn’t? You turned out all right in the end.” The priest sighed. “I remember looking at that medal for a long time, and then looking at you. And telling you that every single parishioner in my church gives me cause to believe they could use Saint Jude’s help, but none more so than you.”
“To this day, I’m amazed at the patience you had in dealing with me,” Jake admitted.
Father Al laughed. “You weren’t that bad.”
“You still giving them out?”
“More so than ever.” The priest made an expansive gesture with his hands. “If I could give one to the town itself, I would.”
“Why? Is Rockport Grove a hopeless case?”
Father Al’s lingering smile faded. “Not all is right here, Jake.”
“What do you mean?”
“My vocation gives me certain kinds of...knowledge,” the priest hedged.
“Like, confessional knowledge?”
“Let’s just say that evil lingers just below the surface.”
“Evil?” Jake snorted. “Come on, Father. Be real.”
“I’m not talking about vampires and werewolves,” Father Al said. “At least not supernatural ones. The evil is wholly human.”
“Well, that clears it up,” Jake remarked, sarcasm creeping into his voice. “First Ray Morris, and then my mom, and now you. You’re all looking anxious and talking about evil, but no one wants to say anything specific. What’s the big deal?”
“I can’t speak for your mother or Ray, and I’m bound by the confessional,” Father Al answered.
“Who’s paying for the renovations to the rectory?” Jake asked suddenly, remembering how both Ray and his mom had been talking about poor insurance payouts.
“The parishioners have been very generous in their donations. The entire amount was raised over the course of a year.”
“That’s good to hear.” He finished his sandwich and shoved the crumpled aluminum wrapping back in his lunchbox. Both he and Father Al stood. “So...given all of this evil, what do you advise me to do?”
“The same as always,” the priest replied steadily. “Don’t give in to temptation. Refuse it. And watch out for those you love.”
“Okay.” Thoroughly unsettled, Jake turned to head back to the construction site. “Thanks, Father, for the warning, though who you’re warning me against and why you’re warning me are both still up for grabs.”
“And thank you for working to repair my home.”
“My pleasure,” Jake replied.
Father Al gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder, and then Jake was climbing back to the second floor, the priest’s advice ringing in his head.
Chapter Five
Jake finished at the construction site well after five PM, and then drove the half-mile down Queen Street to the Mermaid Inn. With aqua green shingles, deeper green trim and a coral red roof, the old Victorian mansion looked as though it could double as part of a tropical reef. Wondering if he had enough in his bank account to cover dinner, he parked his bike and walked up the beautifully landscaped brick sidewalk, past a number of impressive flower gardens to the restaurant door.
He stepped inside and immediately felt welcome. Sophia’s mother, Kat Melkin, was known for her generous heart and warmth, and that feeling pervaded her restaurant: plain, homey curtains on the windows, simple wooden tables, chairs and benches; used wine bottles and farm implements decorating the walls. A candle flickered at each table.
A girl he didn’t recognize was waiting at the hostess stand. “Hi, one for dinner?” she asked him.
He smiled. “Yes, but...I have a favor to ask. Would you mind seating me at one of Sophia Melkin’s tables? I’m an old friend and I want to surprise her.”
Smiling and shooting little glances at him, the girl quickly seated him near the window, and then he had a menu in his hand.
He cast a glance around the restaurant. Sophia interested him more than food, despite the way his stomach was rumbling. Within a few moments, he saw her. She wore a white shirt and black trousers, with a red rose threaded through her hair and had bright red lipstick on. She was heading his way, and his throat tightened at how creamy white her skin looked, at the way her greenish-gray eyes gleamed, at the silky reddish-brown curls that hung down her back. Just the sight of her was enough to give him a hard-on. He lowered his menu to conceal it.
She wasn’t really looking at him, and when she finally did pay attention to his table, she’d come within about five feet of it. She stopped short and her lips twisted. She glanced over at the hostess.
“Sophia, please,” he said urgently. “I need to talk to you.”
She narrowed her eyes and walked over to his table. He could smell her scent: something clean, with an undertone of roses.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Just you tonight?” she asked. “Or will your blonde hooker be joining you?”
He grimaced. “Sophia...”
“Save your explanations, Jake,” she said coolly. “What you do with your time--and your dick--is your business. But we run a respectable business here. No blow jobs in the back hallways.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“My brother expects me to believe that you two didn’t even know they were hookers. Like I’m going to believe that.”
“We really didn’t know,” he admitted, feeling like a fool.
“I understand,” she said with false sweetness. “You just didn’t want to have to pay for it.”
“Alex and I were hustled. I mean...things got out of hand way too quickly. We were dumb.”
Shrugging, she plunked a glass of water down on his table. “As I said, I don’t care.”
But he suspected she did care. He saw the way color had come up in her cheeks, leaving them pink, and he noticed how her breasts were heaving, as if she were having trouble breathing. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“No, we don’t.” She pulled a pen and notepad out of her pocket. “What can I get you?”
He threw her a pleading look, and then glanced down at the menu. He saw a section labeled “Pub Fare” and order a burger and a Guinness.
“I’ll have that right out for you,” she told him, and started to walk away.
But he wasn’t ready to let her go. “Do you have a
break coming up?”
She paused. “If I did, why do you think I’d want to spend it with you?”
“Please, Sophia. I just need a few minutes.”
“A few minutes for what?”
“I want to clear the air between us.” He swallowed. “I know I didn’t do right by you. It’s bothered me ever since I left.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Does my brother know you’re here, trying to make amends?”
He swallowed. “No.”
The first genuine smile crossed her lips. “That’s good,” she said. “Because if he knew, he’d kick your ass.”
He smiled, too. “We don’t have to tell him.”
“You’re very naughty, Jake Gallent.” She tapped her pen against her notebook in a thoughtful manner. “My break isn’t for another two hours.”
“No problem,” he told her, with a little sigh. “I’ll wait.”
“Fine,” she replied. “I’ll put your order in now.”
Two hours and four beers later, Jake had moved from his table to the pub to wait for Sophia to go on break. He loved the original stained glass and leaded windows. The long, dark wood, marble topped bar with hand carved mermaids at either end was over 150 years old. Rather than sit at the bar, he relaxed in one of the over-stuffed leather chairs that surrounded the fireplace. During the colder months, Kat always had a roaring fire to welcome her guests, and on Thursday through Sunday nights, music played from the grand piano in the parlor.
From his cushy leather seat, he’d been observing all sorts of people coming and going: some he knew, and others were clearly out-of-towners. There were a number of French Canadians who, for unknown reasons, drove down from Quebec to vacation in sleepy Rockport Grove. He’d also had plenty of opportunity to watch Sophia wait on tables and admire her grace as she juggled plates of food, her friendliness as she took orders, and the way other men in the room seemed to follow her with their gazes.
All in all, it was a pleasant way to spend a few hours. When Sophia finally stopped by to say she was on break, he stretched, finished his beer and stood.
