by Donna Alward
“Sounds good.”
Rick followed Tom to Main Street and parked on a side street a block from the restaurant. When they entered, the noise was deafening and the smells fantastic. Bright light beamed through the walls of windows and he could see the bay below, the blue of the water particularly intense as it could only be in autumn. Tom was right. It was a good idea. Paul Finnigan’s little fishing boat came chugging into the harbor, probably with a good-sized catch of haddock aboard. Jack had mentioned that the fishing was still good past Widow’s Point, and Paul would get in as much time as he could before putting his boat to dock for the winter.
As Rick watched the wake from the boat form a V, he thought he might like to paint it on the new pane of glass he’d found last week, maybe with a beveled edge so that it could be hung in a window, letting the light shine through the colors. Of course it would mean another trip to Portland for supplies, but that was okay. There wasn’t much work with Jack now and he was bound to get his layoff notice any day.
“Hey, I found us a table,” Tom said, giving Rick’s arm a nudge. “Come on before we lose it.”
They sat at a table in the corner, waited while a young girl Rick didn’t recognize cleared the mess from the previous diners and then reached for menus. “No need.” Tom smiled. “We’ll both have the crab cakes and home fries.”
Rick nodded. “And make sure there’s a piece of Linda’s chocolate cake left, huh?” He smiled at her, noticed her staring at his hand, and discreetly tucked it beneath the table.
She recovered quickly and smiled. “Sure thing. Won’t be long.”
Tom frowned at Rick. “That happen a lot?”
Rick wasn’t sure why the question made a thread of anxiety spiral through him. He should be used to it by now. “All the time. People don’t expect to see this.” He held up his hand, stared at the synthetic material that looked real at first,… but was clearly not on closer examination. And as much as he could use it for a lot of tasks, he would never achieve the same dexterity again.
But it wasn’t really about the hand. It never had been. He just let people think that because it was better than facing the truth.
“You can’t let it hold you back, you know.” Tom reached for his ice water. “Any ideas what you’re going to do now that business at Jack’s is slowing down?”
Rick considered saying the word paint and then laughed to himself. He could just imagine what the fine people of Jewell Cove would say if they knew tough, booze-loving, ex-Marine Rick Sullivan had taken up painting birds and flowers. They’d think it was a joke.
“Not so much. I think Jack’ll give me a good recommendation, though.”
“There must be something in town somewhere. Even part time. Just to get you out of the house, you know?”
A female voice sounded behind him. “I’m sure there is. If he can stay sober long enough, that is.”
Rick’s hackles rose at the condemning tone, but he turned in his chair and regarded Jess Collins blandly. “Always nice to see you, Jessica,” he said. And it was. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.
And also the most judgmental. Which was probably best for all involved. Because Jess deserved a much better man than him.
It just pissed him off that they both knew it.
CHAPTER 3
Jess had thought to stop in, grab a chicken salad croissant for her lunch, and dart back to the shop. She hated having to put up the CLOSED sign, but Cindy White, who’d been working for her part time, had been offered an assistant job at the school and Jess’s high school girl, Tessa, only worked after school two days a week and Saturdays during the school year.
If Jess wanted to skip out at all, it meant closing the store. She paused, though, after placing her lunch order. She hadn’t expected to see Tom here, especially with Rick. She considered walking back out without acknowledging either one of them. But she’d been meaning to talk to Tom anyway, about building some extra wall shelves in her workroom. Now that her classes were really taking off, she needed the room without sacrificing work space.
With the workload and the wedding plans, she might not get another chance for a while.
She got to the table just in time to hear Rick say something about his job situation. Tom replied, “There must be something in town somewhere. Even part time. Just to get you out of the house, you know?”
Indeed. Work was there if someone was inclined to actually look for it. Which hadn’t seemed much of a priority for Rick. At least not until this past summer. He’d been far too busy running up a tab at The Rusty Fern.
“I’m sure there is,” she said, her voice tight. “If he can stay sober long enough, that is.”
“Always nice to see you, Jessica,” Rick replied. His tone said otherwise.
She looked at Tom. “Mind if I pick your brain for a second? I’m waiting for my order and I wanted to ask you about some shelving.”
She watched as Tom looked at Rick, who picked up his napkin and unrolled it, revealing his cutlery. She watched as he placed it on the table precisely using his prosthetic. She swallowed. She knew she should cut Rick some slack. So why wasn’t she able to? Why did she always feel so angry when he was around?
“Don’t mind me,” Rick said. “Pick his brain all you want.”
She pulled out a spare chair and focused on her cousin. “I was thinking of adding some wall shelves to the workroom. Do you think you’d have time for that, and can you give me an estimate?”
“You’re running out of space already?”
She smiled. “Business is good. And rather than stack things on the floor, having it on shelves makes it easier to find and access. Plus I can organize it so that everything for certain classes is in one spot. I probably should have had you do it from the start, but the store shelving was more important.”
“You need it right away? I’m tied up for the next few weeks, and then it’s our honeymoon…”
“Do you think you could do it before Thanksgiving? With all the Christmas materials arriving, I can really use the extra space.”
“That should be doable.” Tom nodded. “I’ll come over and measure and stuff first, and when I get a free day or two, I’ll bring one of the guys and we’ll do it up right.”
She smiled. Tom always came through. Despite tension between the two sides of the family over the last few years, he’d been on her side through it all. Tom had stepped in and built her display counters and shelves, added on a back deck and pergola. He’d believed in her, and she wouldn’t forget that.
“You know, Jess,” Tom mused. “Maybe Rick could put in your shelves. Jack’s not going to have much more work for you, is he, buddy?”
Rick looked startled at the suggestion and Jess’s stomach clenched. She could kill Tom for putting them both on the spot like that. What was she supposed to say?
She looked over at Rick. Tom had helped him get the job with Jack Skillin, too. She felt a little guilty that she didn’t have the faith in Rick that Tom seemed to have.
“He hasn’t given me a pink slip yet,” Rick stated, avoiding her eyes. “Besides, I appreciated the reference before but I don’t need a pity job. Thanks anyway.”
“It wouldn’t be like that. You’d be helping me out,” Tom insisted. “My schedule’s pretty tight.”
Rick met Tom’s gaze. “Sure. That’s it exactly.” He reached for his water. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Jess let out a slow breath. Rick didn’t want to work at her place, either.
“But you’re going to need…”
“How are you making out, Rick?” She interrupted Tom’s persistent voice and softened her own, removing the little bit of condemnation that usually found its way there. He had just lost his mother, after all. And he’d refused the job. Maybe she should give him a break.
He looked up. “Fine. Right as rain.”
Tom butted in. “We were at his mom’s place, taking out boxes.”
Her heart did a strange beat. “Oh. That must
be a hard job. Sorry.” She met Rick’s gaze, surprised to see pain and defiance in the brown depths. “Is anyone helping you go through it? That’s not something you should have to do alone.” Indeed, now that the shelving issue was off the table, she was feeling quite generous. She could probably spare an hour to help. She owed it to Roberta if nothing else.
He was surprised at her offer, she could tell, but he dropped his gaze to his hands. “No, thanks. It’s something I have to do myself. But thanks for asking.”
Tom jumped in again. “He’s got clothes for Goodwill in his truck.”
Jess frowned. It was good that Rick was donating to charity, but it was so soon. Too soon? Plus there was a problem. The clothing bank drop-off was only open two days a week. She knew because she volunteered there one Saturday a month. And today was not one of those days.
“You know the drop-off’s closed today, right?”
Rick’s scowl deepened, creating a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “It is? Damn. I guess I’ll have to unload them again. I don’t want to leave them uncovered in the truck overnight.”
She imagined how taxing it must have been, lugging boxes with only one good hand. Now he’d have to take them out and put them back again …
“Jess?” The waitress interrupted. “Your sandwich is up.” She held out a Styrofoam takeout container. “And yours will be here soon, boys,” she said to Tom and Rick.
Jess took the box. “Thanks, Elaine.” She looked over at Rick. “You know, there’s a women’s shelter that could probably use your things. I could give them a call, and you could drop them off this afternoon.”
“I think my mom would like that.”
She felt her heart turn over. No matter Rick’s mistakes, he’d just lost his mom, a woman he’d clearly loved. “Roberta was always helping out with our charity efforts,” Jess said softly. “I think she’d like that, too, Rick. Do you want me to call them?”
“That’d be nice of you, Jess.”
He met her gaze. Her stomach did a little flip-flop. No matter the changes in their lives, Rick was still the dark-haired rascal who’d kissed her on the beach in the moonlight …
She pushed the memory aside. “I’ll arrange it. Do you have a cell? I can call you with the details.”
Details, heck. She knew exactly what to do and where to go. Because for a few days many years ago she’d slept at the shelter, eaten there, been frightened there. She’d been a quiet supporter of the organization ever since.
He wrote the number on his napkin and slid it over just as Elaine returned with two plates of crab cakes.
“I should get back to the store. I had to close while I grabbed lunch.” Jess stood and grinned down at the pair of them, knowing they were dying to cut into the cakes. “Now my chicken salad isn’t looking so tasty.” She put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Thanks, Tom. And Rick, I’ll call you in a bit.”
“Thanks, Jess.”
She took her boxed sandwich and made her way to the door, her heart clubbing a strange beat. That exchange had been almost civil. Certainly without the biting rancor that generally characterized their conversations.
Outside the fall air was crisp and golden and she took a deep inhale, returning to her senses. Rick was the guy who’d come to the Memorial Day picnic at her sister Sarah’s with a flask tucked in his pocket, who’d gotten Josh drunk at his welcome home party, and who’d been kicked out of the pub more times than she could count for having one too many. She’d heard he’d gotten three sheets to the wind the night his mom had gone into palliative care, though at least he’d been sober for the funeral.
She wasn’t stupid. Some people could handle their liquor. She wasn’t opposed to a few glasses of wine with the girls now and again, or a cold beer on a hot summer’s day. But some people couldn’t. And she wasn’t dumb enough to put herself in the middle of that sort of situation again. Not when it had cost her so much.
She hurried back to the shop and ate her sandwich while searching for her phone book, then took a moment to make the call. Two minutes later she took out the napkin with Rick’s number on it and dialed.
“Hello?”
The sound of the café filtered through the phone. “It’s Jess. You’re still at lunch?”
“Just finishing up.”
“I’ve got directions for you. You ready?”
He hesitated.
“Rick?”
“Um, yeah, about that. Look, I was wondering … are you free to go with me?”
She blinked. “Go with you?”
“Yeah. I feel kind of awkward going there by myself.”
“Because…” she prompted. Surely he wasn’t prejudiced. No one ever intended to get in a position that they’d need a shelter.
“Maybe the women there don’t appreciate a man being around. I don’t know,” he answered, sounding flustered. “I’ve never done this before.”
“You intimidated, Rick?” She smiled into the receiver. “It’s just a drop-off.”
“Never mind, then,” he answered sharply. “Give me the damn directions.”
She sighed, suddenly feeling guilty for breaking the tentative truce between the two of them. What would it hurt, spending an hour at most with him? For charity. “I can’t just leave, that’s all. My after-school help doesn’t get here until three thirty.”
There was a pause. “I could wait and go then.”
He was making a concession. An effort. And he was doing a good thing, so why was she fighting it so hard?
“Swing by and pick me up at quarter to four,” she said heavily.
“Forget it.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Rick, let’s not make this into an argument. You want me to go and I’m going. Let’s just leave it, okay?”
There was a long silence. The clacking of dishes and cutlery was gone and she assumed he’d gone outside.
“Fine. I’ll see you later,” he muttered, and then clicked off without saying good-bye.
She would not let him get to her.
At precisely 3:45, Jess hooked her handbag on her shoulder and waved to Tessa as she left the store. When she got down the boarded walkway that Tom had built for her, she discovered Rick in his truck parked along the street, tapping his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.
She hopped in and pasted on a smile, determined to start the drive on the right foot. “Hi. Again.”
His fingers stopped tapping. “Hey.”
He pulled away from the curb and at the next intersection, turned left onto Main and continued until they hit the exit to the highway, all without saying a word. If traffic stayed light, they’d reach the shelter in thirty, thirty-five minutes tops.
Over an hour when all was said and done. It would be the longest she’d spent with him since high school and even then they’d rarely been alone. Considering his apparent lack of conversational skills, an hour was going to feel like a lifetime.
“So,” she began uneasily. “You went through some of Roberta’s things.”
“I’m thinking of moving in.” He stared straight ahead. “No sense putting it off, really. Going through her clothes, I mean.”
“People grieve in their own time. I don’t think anyone should be held to certain rules, you know? If you felt like doing it, then it was clearly the right time.”
His shoulders relaxed a little. “At first I thought about putting the house up for sale.”
Jess considered the cute two-story house. Situated on one of Jewell Cove’s side streets, it had a splendid birch tree out front and a profusion of perennials—forsythia in spring, rhododendrons and lilacs, cosmos and phlox. She’d always thought Roberta’s house looked like something out of a magazine or book. “I’m assuming your mom kept it in primo shape,” she mused. “I bet it wouldn’t be on the market long.” In fact it would be perfect for a family. She could easily imagine a swing set in the backyard. A dog to fetch sticks or a tennis ball. A perfect family life for a perfect family.
“She d
id, until the last year or so when she started feeling tired and then was diagnosed.” Rick’s voice was tight, as if talking about it physically hurt. “But it won’t take long to fix up what fell behind.”
Jess studied his profile. His dark hair was a bit longer now that the jarhead look was gone, and curled slightly at his T-shirt collar. His eyes were dark brown, and his face was angular … at times it seemed harsh and unrelenting, especially when he had a shadow of stubble on it. Like now, when he clenched his jaw. His words were easily spoken but his face told the truth. He was hurting, and hurting badly.
“I’m so sorry, Rick. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.” She paused, and then carefully asked, “What about your dad? Have you contacted him? I mean, now that your mom is gone…”
He shook his head quickly. “You weren’t being insensitive,” he assured her. “And as far as my dad…” He hesitated, then let out a breath. “I haven’t spoken to him in years. And I don’t plan to either.”
The harsh tone was startling and she stared at him. “But … he’s your father. I mean, I know he left you and your mom, but so much time has passed. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to get in touch.”
Rick’s eyes blazed as he looked over at her. “He left and hasn’t bothered to stay in touch, ask about me, even pay any child support to my mom. I don’t owe him anything.”
She understood his anger, but family was important. Particularly since Rick no longer had any. Perhaps if they could make amends …
“Maybe not. Or maybe he just doesn’t know what to say after all this time. If you just—”
“Look, Jess,” he interrupted sharply. “The truth is, I’ve known since second grade that I’m adopted. A year after that Graham left. So you see, he wasn’t my father in any sense of the word. So what’s the point in calling him up now?”
“Adopted?” Shock rippled through her as her mouth dropped open. Granted, Rick had never really looked much like Roberta, but that didn’t really mean anything. “You’ve known all these years and never told anyone?”
“Marian Foster arranged it. I was the last baby she helped place.”
