by Carol Ross
“Look, I’m sorry, Jonah. I—”
“You know, disliking something doesn’t mean you think you’re superior to it—it means you don’t like it. I don’t like Japanese food either, but I don’t think I’m superior to the country of Japan.”
Okay, he had a point there—sort of, but that was irrelevant. She needed to change her tune if she was going to get the rest of the night off and, more to the point, take the big-city attorney down a peg or two.
“Yeah, Jonah, you’re probably right. I’m just stressed, I think. Worried about your gramps, worried about Hannah, I’ve got staffing issues at the inn, and I’m...tired.”
She saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes at her attitude change. Then his shoulders sunk slightly, his face softened as his hands slid into the back pockets of his jeans. She knew sympathy when she saw it.
Reel him in, she told herself—nice and easy.
She reached over and slowly started spinning the basket that contained the little colored balls. They began tumbling over one another. There had been a call a few years ago for an electronic bingo machine, but Shay was glad the Seniors’ Circle had opposed the upgrade. To her, bingo just wouldn’t be the same without the metal basket full of wooden balls making that distinctive clacking noise. The sound also served to alert the troops that the time had come to pipe down, which they were beginning to do already.
Shay leaned over and casually announced the pattern for the coming round. She slowed the rotation of the basket until a ball released and rolled down the chute. Then she reached over and plucked the ball from the little cup where it landed. She picked it up...and made a sound of despair as it slipped through her fingers, landing on the floor and bouncing out of sight. Half of the crowd let out a collective groan, most of the other half looked around in bewilderment, while a smattering of flirtatious yell-talking continued.
Jonah bent to look for the ball while Shay took a step back. After a few seconds Jonah reached down and then promptly stood, proudly holding the ball aloft like a hard-won carnival prize.
“Oh, Jonah, thank you,” she said with relief. “Can you go ahead and read it?” She blinked and squinted and pointed at her eye, motioning that she had something in it.
Jonah obliged. “N-35,” he cooed into the microphone. “N-35.”
“Shoot,” Shay said when he glanced over at her again. She bent to her knees. “Now I dropped my contact. Would you mind calling the next number, too?”
“Uh...sure.” He nodded and then reached over and began spinning the basket. “Like this?” He slowed the rotation until the next ball clicked into position.
“That’s great,” she gushed. “You’re a natural.”
“N-31,” he called smoothly. “N-31.”
Shay crawled farther away as Jonah went ahead with the next sequence and then the next. Finally, she rose and scurried over to where Janie waited by the door with their coats and bags.
“Masterful,” Janie said with a giggle as she handed over Shay’s belongings.
“Thank you.” She executed a quick bow. She looked at Jonah and watched his face transform from bewilderment to understanding as he realized what she was doing. He narrowed his eyes menacingly as Shay gave him two thumbs up. She added a wave over her shoulder as she and Janie strolled out the door.
CHAPTER FIVE
JONAH LOOKED AROUND Gramps’s office with the same degree of bafflement he had ever since he’d arrived. He’d spent the last few days hanging out with Gramps and trying to get a sense of his overall health. He would seem fine one minute and then the next he’d appear tired or weak. His appetite was good; they’d gone out for dinner a couple nights ago where he’d seemed as young and energetic as ever, just as he had at bingo.
Doc had been over to play cards twice and their gin rummy sessions were as heated and jovial as ever. Gramps had been working in the yard yet taking a lot of naps, and two of the days he’d slept for hours.
He’d confessed to Jonah that he didn’t feel up to spending any time in the office, so Jonah had begun sorting through the files on Gramps’s desk, which was a mess—also very unlike him. He’d always advised Jonah that the trouble it took to keep things neat now saved precious time searching for important details later. Appearances suggested to Jonah that Gramps hadn’t been following his own advice. That concerned him, too—as did one of the case files Jonah had found near the bottom of a pile.
“Gramps?” he called into the other room.
The office of Caleb Cedar, attorney at law, was located inside Gramps’s house with an outside entrance for clients. This had been an ideal set-up when Jonah was growing up because he’d been able to hang out there while Gramps was working, yet still enjoy the comforts of home.
Jonah had been nine years old when the small plane carrying his parents to Anchorage for a wedding had crashed. Jonah was supposed to have been with them, but he’d begged to be allowed to stay home with Gramps. His parents had acquiesced and then, less than three hours later, they were dead. Jonah had never recovered from the opposing emotions he’d felt as a child—felt still, even though his rational brain begged him to be rational about these feelings.
He felt both guilty about not being with his parents and relieved that he hadn’t been at the same time. The conflicting emotions were a heavy burden for a child to bear. And then later, after he’d read his father’s journals, his expectations had piled on their weight as well. His father had desperately wanted Jonah to “get out of Rankins,” to achieve a level of success and security that he’d wanted for himself, but had been unable to attain. Jonah had been striving to do that his entire adult life.
Jonah was aware of how lucky he was that they’d been living with Gramps at the time of his parents’ death, and now that he worked as an attorney himself, he fully understood the sacrifices Gramps had made by taking on the parental role. But Gramps had never made Jonah feel like he was sacrificing anything. On the contrary, he’d always made him feel like he was the most important part of his life.
And Jonah had loved his time with Gramps—still loved it, and Shay was right, back in those days he had loved Rankins, too. Of course, he had also loved Shay.
“What is it, my boy?” Gramps stuck his head inside the office door. Francis came in and flopped over onto Jonah’s feet. Jonah gave her a quick belly scratch while she gazed up at him with love-struck eyes.
“We seem to be missing some paperwork for the real estate dispute between Will Traeger and the town of Rankins.”
Gramps stepped in the room, rubbed his chin and turned a slow circle. “Let’s see, um...” After spinning a couple times, he stopped and placed his hands on his hips. He bobbed his head in the general direction of the desk. “You rifled through that pile there already, did ya?”
“I did.”
“Huh.” Gramps’s face contorted with confusion.
And, Jonah also realized, he still loved everything about this office—the books crammed tightly into the floor-to-ceiling shelves, the stacks of files, the sound of Gramps’s keyboard clacking—even the smell of the paper he consumed by the truckload. He especially loved to listen to Gramps talk about the law. To this day, Jonah considered his grandfather’s legal brain the sharpest he’d ever encountered. He was so proud of the admiration and respect his gramps had earned in Rankins, and the thought of his reputation suffering now was nearly unbearable.
“Could you have given it to Betty so she could type up some documents? And it looks like it may need a title report.”
Gramps snapped his fingers. “Betty, yes—that’s a possibility. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Jonah stared at his grandfather, emotion flooding through him. He loved this man with all of his heart, and the thought of something being wrong with his health now, when Jonah had been away so much these last years, made him sick—literally made his stomach ache. He really hadn’t intended to be absent so much, but his job in Chicago was demanding and time-consuming. He didn’t like coming back here, t
hat was true, but Shay was right when she said that he didn’t have a viable excuse for not making more time for his grandfather. A surge of guilt welled in him; he shouldn’t have to wonder if Gramps knew how much he meant to him.
Jonah reached over and picked up the phone. He took a second to unwind the twisted cord; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d used a phone with a cord.
“What’s Betty’s number?”
“Just hit the button there on that speed dial doohickey. Her number is right below yours.”
Jonah couldn’t help but notice that Shay’s number was a spot above his own on the doohickey, just under Doc’s.
She’d ambushed him at bingo the other night. Clever, if a bit harsh, but maybe he’d deserved it after the way he’d insulted her. He hadn’t meant to insult her. And he supposed she had a point about his attorney attitude—his confidence, for lack of a better word, might not have quite the same effect in Rankins as it did in Chicago. In Chicago his attitude earned him respect. He could see how in Rankins that same self-assurance might result in some disdain—certainly where Shay was concerned anyway.
“Betty, hi, it’s Jonah Cedar. Caleb’s grandson... Yes, I am, thank you. How are you?... Oh, that’s great.”
Jonah chatted with Betty for a few minutes, about her husband, Crab, and their kids and grandkids, her quilting, Crab’s garden...until finally he got around to the reason for the call. He was relieved to hear that she did indeed have the paperwork.
Ten minutes later he hung up the phone and turned toward Gramps. He smiled inwardly as he thought of how valuable that chunk of time would have been to him back in Chicago where his schedule was constantly overbooked and clients were billed to the minute. Rankins time was an altogether different animal.
“She’s got it?” Gramps asked.
“Yep, she’s got it. She said she’ll drop everything by in a couple days. She said you told her you didn’t need it until next week, but she’ll get right on it.”
Gramps gently punched a fist into his open palm. “That’s great news. Did she say what Crab has been up to?”
Jonah nodded absently as he consulted the list he’d made of the most pressing matters pertaining to Gramps’s workload. “She did. Apparently, he’s over that bad cold he had, his garden is going to be their best ever, and he’s been seeing some reds around the mouth of the Opal.”
Like Gramps—and a lot of people in this town—Crab loved to fish. And when the fishing was good it often took priority over just about anything else, including any emergency that wasn’t literally life-threatening.
“Reds?” Gramps belted out the word.
Jonah looked up and there was no mistaking the yearning stamped across Gramps’s face. Now he felt even worse. He shouldn’t have mentioned fishing when Gramps clearly wasn’t up for going out.
“Yep, that’s what Betty said.”
Gramps moved toward the window.
“You okay, Gramps?”
“Sure, yeah...reds already, huh? This is just the first of them, not the main run, but still, they’re in a little earlier than Doc and I predicted.”
“Happens sometimes,” Jonah muttered. Jonah hadn’t been fishing in way too long. He and Shay used to fish together all the time. That he definitely missed—the fishing, not Shay. Okay, maybe Shay a little, too, but the way things used to be; kicked back in the boat, sneaking kisses when the fish weren’t biting—and when they were, or sometimes not fishing at all but just holding the girl he loved in his arms while they made plans for the future.
Fishing held only good memories—with Shay, with Gramps, with Bering, even with Tag—before things went south in their friendship. There was nothing like fishing and there was nothing better than a good fish story either—maybe one would help cheer Gramps up.
“Gramps, remember that one year the silvers were running up the Tilachuk River and we went—”
Jonah turned to see the tail end of Gramps heading out the door. “Gramps? Where are you going?”
“Oh, um, you know what, son? I’m going to go lay down. I, uh...I could use a nap. Course if you need me here, I can stay.” Gramps busted out a loud yawn, patting a hand over his open mouth.
Jonah felt that already familiar simmer of worry begin to boil again.
“No, I’m fine here, Gramps. That’s a good idea—you go and get some rest. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy for the next few hours.”
“Thank you. Sometimes this, uh, thing gets a hold of me and I just need a little rest.”
“Of course, yes, Gramps—you go.”
“Do you mind if Francis stays here with you? I don’t want to lock her up in my room with me.”
Francis peered up at Jonah like she knew she was being discussed. He scratched her neck and she stretched to make it easier for him to reach the sweet spot behind her ear.
“Yeah, no problem. I was thinking about taking a walk along the waterfront later and I planned to bring her along anyway. Now she’ll get me out the door for sure.”
Francis wagged an enthusiastic tail.
Gramps smiled in gratitude. “You know what, Jonah? I like the thought of us doing something together—like old times.”
“I’d like that, too, Gramps.”
“I’ll talk to Doc and see if he thinks it would be okay if we went out fishing. What do you say to that?”
Jonah nodded. He didn’t see what that would hurt—a leisurely troll in the bay—especially if Doc went with them.
“Sounds fun,” he said and realized how much he meant it.
Gramps’s face lit with a bright smile.
Jonah smiled back, thinking how great it was to see that twinkle in his eye.
“Gramps—one more thing—you’ve got an appointment with Gary and Ingrid Watte today. Do you want me to wake you up for that or call and reschedule?”
“Shoot. I, uh, I forgot about that one. Um, let me think a sec.”
“What’s going on with Gary and Ingrid?”
“Divorce.”
“Divorce?” Jonah couldn’t believe it—the Wattes had been married for an entire decade. He knew precisely because he remembered their wedding day—often. The event had taken place toward the end of summer, a couple weeks before Shay’s grandfather had passed away, before she’d inherited the inn, and before things had so epically fallen apart.
But then, on that night with the air filled with the scent of forget-me-nots, Jonah had held her in his arms as they’d danced at the reception and he’d known without a single doubt and in the depths of his soul, that he would love her for the rest of his life. Shay’s lips had tasted like the licorice candy he’d bought for her earlier that day after he’d stopped and ordered her engagement gift.
The gift that he’d designed knowing she would love it—the gift that their talented artist friend Kella had painstakingly crafted, but that he’d never had a chance to give to Shay. The gift that had inadvertently become his accessory instead of hers.
“The Wattes. Hmm, it’s a crying shame.”
“It is,” Jonah said, unconsciously placing a hand over his pocket where he usually carried that accessory. His naiveté had indeed been shameful. “Sometimes love turns...impossible, huh, Gramps?”
“Sometimes,” Gramps agreed with a single short nod. “But lots of times it’s the people that are in it that are kind of impossible, don’t ya think?”
He and Gramps had never discussed the breakup. He’d always assumed that Gramps had understood that he and Shay had had to go their separate ways, but what was he saying here? That the split had been his fault? Jonah definitely did not want to have a conversation about his and Shay’s failed relationship now.
“You’re probably right...to a degree.”
“Mm-hmm,” Gramps agreed without really agreeing at all.
“Do you want me to talk to them?”
Gramps beamed. “Would you do that?”
“Sure, if they don’t want me to handle this initial consultation, I’ll just reschedule.�
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“That’s a dandy of an idea. Thanks, son. I sure do appreciate all you’re doing for me here. I hope this thing—whatever it is—doesn’t keep me down for long.”
Jonah watched as his grandfather shuffled through the doorway. His black hair was now speckled with gray but still thick and wavy, his body still trim and wiry, but suddenly he seemed all of his seventy-four years, and Jonah fought the fear that tried to claw its way in. Shay was right—they had to stay positive.
He forced himself to concentrate on the now neatly stacked paperwork in front of him. He’d forgotten how challenging small-town law could be—there were such a variety of issues to tackle, unlike back at his firm in Chicago where his cases sometimes felt like “same song, second verse.”
He picked up a billing statement and looked it over; reminding himself that while legal work here might be more diverse, it was definitely not as lucrative.
The “mail truck” caught Jonah’s eye as the ramshackle jeep pulled to the curb. He watched Ralph Simpke hop out and hustle up the sidewalk. Jonah rose to intercept him. He didn’t want him ringing the bell and setting Francis off while Gramps was trying to rest.
He opened the door. “Hey, Ralph.”
Ralph had been a transplant from the lower forty-eight nearly thirty years ago. A reformed alcoholic, he also led the weekly AA meetings in town and was a constant source of energy and inspiration for anyone who might need an encouraging word.
“Jonah! Good to see you, buddy. I heard you were back in town.” Ralph reached out a hand and Jonah was reminded again of how different a simple handshake was in Rankins—strong and full of feeling—like a form of punctuation.
“I am for a bit. You look great, Ralph. How’ve you been?”
And that was a loaded question in this town.
Jonah enjoyed catching up, but again couldn’t seem to stop himself from mentally counting the billable time as Ralph discussed his ongoing battle with red squirrels nesting in his cabin, his recent hernia operation, and a harrowing visit to the proctologist—the details of which Jonah hoped wouldn’t keep him up that night. Roughly three-hundred would-be dollars later Ralph handed over an envelope.
