by Rc Bonitz
He groaned. "Any other complaints you'd like to register? I don't get it. You hate me because I'd like to marry again?"
"You don't care what kind of a marriage you get as long as you get a babysitter."
His eyes burned into her. "I had my chance. You don't get a second one."
"What does that mean?"
"The love of my life died two years ago," he murmured.
He spoke softly but with obvious emotion. Lissey half expected him to burst into tears again. She had no idea how to respond except to say she was sorry, but somehow, after the exchange they'd had those words seemed remarkably inadequate.
They had just about reached Patti's house. She stood waiting on the crumbling blacktop of the road, waving as they approached. Lissey bit her lip, choosing silence as the best way to acknowledge Jake's grief. Her own emotions bubbled in confusion, sympathy for his obvious anguish crashing head on with frustration and anger that seemed to overwhelm her at every turn. He pushed her buttons with his casual treatment of his daughter, the secret life he lead, and now with this display of feeling for his dead wife. Why did she give a damn about him at all?
"Hi guys," Patti said cheerfully as they reached her. "Ready for a wild time tonight?"
Lissey hesitated, giving Jake a chance to reply first. He stared off down the road, offering nothing but silence. "At Henri's? You mean you're going to get drunk?" she finally said.
Patti slipped her arm inside of Jake's and laughed. "Whatever wild way you want to go, Lis. I have my own ideas."
Jake's face worked and finally settled into a mirthless smile. "Hey Patti, how's it going?"
"Wonderful, I'm having a wonderful day."
With Patti clinging to Jake, Lissey followed them into The Sea Horse Grill. Alcoves cut into faded whitewashed walls held electric candles garnished with sprigs of flowers. Simple wooden chairs with padded seats circled a dozen tables of various shapes and sizes, and a massive bar occupied the far end of the room. Three men leaned against the bar indulging in loud conversation and bottles of beer.
Terra cotta pots overflowing with hibiscus flowers scattered about among the tables gave color to an otherwise tired looking room. Two arched doorways opened to an outdoor dance floor where a drummer was setting up and a guitar player held forth beneath strings of colored lights. The soft chords of the guitar drifted into the dining room, lending a certain atmosphere to the room.
The McNulty family occupied one table, the others remained empty. Patti dragged Jake to a round table for four and drew out a chair for herself. Lissey took a seat.
"Hey Lissey, going formal tonight?" a rather rotund Henri Dermont called from behind the bar.
"We're here for dinner, Henri. At least some of us are."
"Grouper and imported veggies. Sound good?"
Lissey cocked her head toward Jake. "That's the menu for tonight. Patti, are you having dinner?"
"If Bruce is I will too," Patti said, oozing sweetness.
"Two grouper, one Island Salad, Henri," Lissey called across the room.
"Coming, my dear."
Jake smiled at Lissey. "I'd call that a limited menu. You always take pot luck here?"
She nodded, letting a smile settle in around her eyes. At a cursory glance he looked relaxed, but there was a hint of residual emotion still showing in his eyes, pain of memory, or something heavy. What was it costing him to live the way he did?
Patti had startled her when she called him Bruce. She'd have to watch herself with that alias or she might very well call him Jake in public one of these times. Like if she had to make introductions tonight. What the devil was the last name again? Darn. Burton? No, Duncan, that was it.
"We're a small island. Whatever's available, that's what Henri serves each day," Patti said.
Jake glanced around the room, then ran his hand along the edge of the table. "Looks like the place has been here a long time."
Lissey bristled. What was that supposed to mean?. Henri's was a favorite of the locals and there was only the one fancy resort on the island. People who stayed there tended to do just that, stay there. Live-aboards and vacationing boaters were about the only outside visitors Henri's ever had and the place was good enough for them. "We like it," she snapped.
He swiped his hand across the tabletop and smiled at her. "Buy you a drink?"
"I'll have a rum punch," Patti interjected.
"Beer for me, Red Stripe," Lissey said.
Jake got to his feet, a grin spreading across his face. "Should I shout it out?"
Lissey shrugged. "You've got to go get them."
He chuckled and headed for the bar.
As soon as Jake turned away, Patti produced a lipstick and touched it to her lips, then tossed back her hair. "You won't get anywhere with him by being snippy," she murmured, giving Lissey a sly smile.
"What makes you think I want to? I've seen his type before."
"And just what type is he?"
"He's a boat hobo. He'll stay a week, a month, six weeks, and then sail off into the blue."
Patti reached across the table to pat Lissey's hand. "Like Ramon, you mean?"
"Yeah, like that," she muttered.
"You're not still bleeding over him, are you? My gosh, Lissey, that was five years ago."
"No, of course not. Ramon was a selfish idiot."
"Then what have you got against Bruce?"
His name isn't Bruce, damn it, and I stupidly promised to protect his secret. And he's careless with Emma and she's going to die. Her breath caught at the thought. Oh God, that couldn't happen, no. Something, she had to do something. Talk to Jake, threaten him, something, make him promise to be more careful with that darling child.
"Are you all right? Your face just turned chalk white," Patti said anxiously.
She sighed. "Boat hobos are all the same, hiding something, running away, whatever. Stumbling through life on a dollar and a dime." Lissey bit her lip. That sounded so mean. And she knew she didn't really think he was that kind of person.
Jake returned, three glasses cradled in his hands. He bent and set them on the table, then slid them to their respective owners. Raising his beer in a toast, he said, "To a pleasant evening with new friends."
Lissey raised her glass. "Hear, hear." She glanced at Patti, a frown creasing her forehead.
Patti met her eyes for a second then took a delicate sip of her punch.
Lissey swallowed a bit of beer and eased back in her chair as Henri approached with their food. Good, they would eat, not talk, and she could let the conversation drift away. Except it wouldn't leave her mind. Patti was right, Ramon was past tense. The pain he'd caused when he'd left her four months pregnant couldn't touch her anymore. It was nothing; the real horror had come those five long months later. The memory of that still seared her heart whenever it clawed its way back into her consciousness, which it did all too often. A soft little sigh escaped her control and she forced her attention back to the present.
So, what was it about Jake that bothered her so much? Whatever it was, she'd figure it out eventually. Or he'd sail away and it wouldn't matter anymore. In the meantime, Emma needed her protection. Jake was just too darn casual with her safety. She'd talk to him, but if he wouldn't listen she wouldn't keep his secret anymore. In fact, she'd do more than call him by his real name.
Patti reached out and put her hand on Jake's arm and gave him a glowing smile. "Let's dance."
He threw a quick glance in Lissey's direction, put down his fork, and got to his feet.
Lissey watched as they swayed to the soft rhythm of the guitar. It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER THREE
Come morning, her head in a fog, stomach unhappy with the remains of too much beer, Lissey almost dropped a pan of teacakes as she put it in the oven. She'd stayed out far too late. But, she'd had fun after Jake swept her out to the dance floor. She smiled at the memory. After a couple of dances with Patti he'd returned to the table and extended his hand to her.
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"Dance?" he'd asked.
She'd shaken her head, but he ignored the gesture, reaching out to take her hand and haul her to her feet.
"I don't bite," he said as he led her to the dance floor.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said and could have bitten her tongue. What a stupid thing to say.
His eyes twinkled. "That I know."
"Then why did you say that?"
He frowned. "There's afraid and there's afraid. You hide behind your harbormaster's cap."
"That's ridiculous."
He tried to pull her close but she resisted.
"See what I mean? You keep people at arm's length."
"That's just you."
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Just me? Why?"
"You keep secrets. And—"
"I told you about that. I have to protect my daughter."
She groaned inwardly. If this was a debate she was losing. Of course she knew about the reason for his secrets. "I've had experience with live-aboards like you." There, that was better.
He went silent for a moment and then drew her tight against him, tolerating no resistance. Warmth flooded her body as they came together, not the heat of passion but simply cozy comfort. She let herself relax a little.
"You've been hurt somewhere down the road."
He spoke so softly she almost didn't hear him, but his words brought a tear to her eye. She blinked it away and shook her head.
He ignored the gesture. "Live-aboards aren't all alike you know. Some of us have integrity."
Lissey wanted to laugh, but he was serious and she suddenly realized his secrets were honest ones in an odd sort of way. She got no further with the thought. Peter had come in right then and she'd thought he'd punch Jake in the mouth even though she told him to leave her alone. He'd backed off, thank God. Jake was cool though; he just kept dancing.
They'd danced away the rest of the night, cheek to cheek when the dance allowed it, avoiding those very personal conversations by mutual agreement. Jake seemed to accept her reluctance to get too personal and that had been fine by Lissey.
She set the timer for the oven and started on a tray of rotis, working the chickpea flour with practiced hands. She'd had fun last night, more so than she'd had in years. She giggled to herself. Whatever other failings Jake had, he was a good dancer. She paused, her fingers coated with flour. He had a sensitive streak too. He'd recognized her reluctance to share her feelings and honored that. Another laugh bubbled up inside. Poor Patti, she'd been so jealous when he kept Lissey on the dance floor for the rest of the night.
She poured herself a cup of java and considered the current state of affairs in the life of Lissey Hartnet. Maybe she was too hard on people like Jake. Her social life the last five years had been non-existent. Was he right—was she hiding out? Punishing herself for getting pregnant by Ramon? Darn, she needed a shrink, someone to tell her what to do, what was wrong with her. Grief? The thought came in a flash. Caroline still was there, a crushing ache in her soul.
A chill ran up her back. It hurt too much to think about her baby. And she would not forget ever, how could she? But she could live, couldn't she? Lissey kneaded the dough again, crushing it down on her floured baking board. Was she indulging in self-pity? Only wimps did that. A night out on occasion never hurt anybody. Although, given the state of her stomach this morning that could be debated.
The timer went off and she pulled the teacakes out of the oven.
"What are you doing?"
Startled, Lissey spun around.
Emma stood behind her, wearing a bathing suit, dripping wet, her curls plastered to her head.
"Hi," Lissey said. "Where did you come from?"
Emma smiled, turning on the charm. "I came to make tarts."
"Where's your daddy?"
"He's sleeping."
Lissey caught her breath. "How did you get off the boat? It's too early for the launch."
Emma cocked her head and looked down at the floor, avoiding eye contact. "I swam."
"Alone? By yourself?"
The child bobbed her head.
Lissey's knees buckled. She sank down beside the little one and took her in her arms. "Oh Emma, what am I going to do with you?"
"I had my life jacket like you said."
Images of the child drowning, getting run over by a passing boat, flashed through Lissey's mind, and the memories she'd just been skirting came back with scorching detail. Hugging the child to her breast, she burst into tears. Caroline had felt like this, a tiny warm and cuddly body, hers to love and care for. Except she couldn't stop God's will or fate or whatever power that had given her daughter life so briefly and then stolen it away. She'd had a few hours of bliss after Caroline's birth, before the end began.
She'd held the tiny body all she could, ignoring the midwife's protests, clutching her daughter to her breast, the baby too weak to suckle, warming the little bundle against her own skin, the diminutive fingers curling into fists, feeling the tiny movements of the love she knew would soon be still. The sweet smell of baby that stayed with her even today. Cuddling her child as the movement slowly reached an end, holding on until cold crept into her arms where warmth had been moments before. The pain had been unbearable, incredible searing pain that burned her very soul. She wept again, even now as she held Emma.
"What's the matter?" Emma asked.
Lissey brushed away her tears and smiled. "I was remembering a little girl just like you."
"Where is she? Did she go away?"
"Yes, sweetie she did."
"Was she yours?"
Lissey nodded. She could not manage more.
"Grandpa wants to take me away. My daddy would cry too I think."
Lissey gave her a fierce hug and kissed her cheek. "Should we make tarts now?"
"Okay. Goody," Emma cried.
"Let's find you an apron. I have an old one by the toasters."
"I see it. It's too big."
"I'll fix the straps for you."
Minutes later, decked out in a shoulder to ankle apron, Emma stood waiting by the baking board. Lissey began adding flour and slices of cold butter and other ingredients to a large mixing bowl with Emma firing questions about each ingredient as it was added to the mix
"There now, your turn." Lissey handed her a rubber spatula. "Mix everything together and then we'll get the cherries ready."
Emma set to work. She soon had a dab of flour on her nose and another on her ear but her smile was a mile wide.
Lissey stood watching as the child tired of the spatula and began to use her hands, her little fingers digging into the flour and turning, poking, pushing everything together. Caroline would be doing the same no doubt, at least the first time she ever cooked. But, she would have started when she was three or four and would have been an experienced little helper by the time she reached Emma's age.
"What's going on here?"
Lissey started and looked up.
Jake stood there, arms akimbo, wearing those same cargo shorts she'd seen him in the first day. She blinked, her musings about Caroline still fresh in her head.
"Who's Caroline?" he asked softly.
"What?"
"You were mumbling that name. And crying. What happened?"
She tried to speak but no words came. Instead she gaped at him.
Jake touched his hand to her hair, a gentle gesture of concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"
She shook her head and collapsed to her knees on the floor. Not the time for this, not in front of him. She had to control herself. "My daughter," she muttered and fought back a new wave of weeping.
"You have a daughter?" he asked, sounding confused and uncertain.
Lissey shook her head as Emma, watching her, wrapped her arms around her father's leg. She smiled at the child, aware she'd probably upset her. Her heart settled back into its normal pace as she struggled to regain some semblance of self-control.
"Something happened?" Jake asked.
The floodgates opened once more, just when she thought she had herself together again. "She died."
He dropped to the floor beside her. "I'm sorry. Tell me about it."
He was a stranger, none of his business, but she couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. "She lived two days. Something was wrong but we had no doctor here. She was beautiful. A tiny mop of white blonde hair. But she was early. She only weighed four pounds."
"And her name was Caroline?"
Lissey nodded.
"It's a pretty name. How long ago?"
"She'd be five now. Like Emma."
"I'm six," Emma said.
Jake poked his daughter playfully. "Not yet young lady. Five and a half."
Lissey's heart warmed at their easy playfulness, then a sob caught in her throat to think of how it might have been with Caroline.
Jake gently stroked her hand. "Her father?"
"A live-aboard like you. He left when I was pregnant."
"Crap. So, you went through all that alone."
"My mother was with me most of the time."
He cocked an eyebrow. "It's not the same. You should have had someone who felt as much as you did. Someone you could curl up with in the wee hours of the morning and sob your heart out." He broke eye contact with her then, but not before she glimpsed the pain he carried too.
Enough, she'd revealed far too many of her secrets, far too much of her heart. "I can't do this anymore. I have work to do. Thank you for listening though."
He got to his feet and offered her a hand up. His fingers were strong and warm as toast. Warm as… She stopped herself, enough, let the memories rest.
"What can I do to help?" he asked.
She blinked. Him in her kitchen with her, that wouldn't work. Would it? "There's something you have to do first. Emma cannot swim in from your boat by herself. Even with a life jacket. You have to—"
"You're right." He turned to Emma, his face drawn into a serious frown. "How many times have I told you not to swim alone? You know better than that."
"I'm hungry," Emma muttered. "I want a tart."
"A tart? Oh Emma, what should I do with you?"
