Alegra's Homecoming

by Mary Anne Wilson

  ALEGRA AWOKE the next morning to the sound of a marching band playing “The Star Spangled Banner.” She pushed herself to a sitting position. Despite the fact the noise literally made the air around her vibrate, the band wasn’t in her bedroom. The sound came over loudspeakers, probably from the nearby park.

  She glanced at the clock and groaned. After a night of self-pity, she hadn’t fallen asleep until the wee hours. She reached for a terry robe to put on over the faded T-shirt she slept in. An incongruous choice of nightwear for a woman who designed fabulous lingerie, Alegra recognized, but comfortable all the same.

  She crossed to open the door and look outside. It wasn’t raining, but the ever present mist was in place. Through the mist came the music, along with people cheering and clapping. She closed the door. “Opening ceremonies,” she muttered.

  As she splashed her face with cool water, she could hear a brassy rendition of “Whiskey Johnnie.” “Debauchery,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. She almost smiled at the thought of Joe giving his definition of debauchery.

  She quickly dressed in jeans, a heavy cable-knit sweater and her boots. She’d contact Joe later to talk; she’d give him her press packet and a few facts about her business. There wouldn’t be any reason to see him again after she gave him her version of success.

  Alegra pulled her hair up and away from her face in a ponytail. She had work to do, contacts to make, a phone call or two she should put through, but she found that the idea of doing any of it was about as appealing as the world outside that seemed to be comprised of one huge brass band. She looked around the living area, then decided to climb in the car and drive away from the cacophony for a while. She reached for her keys and wallet, and as she turned to retrieve her cell phone from a table by the door, she stopped.

  She hadn’t noticed it before, but Sean Payne’s painting, delivered the previous afternoon and put inside, was propped against the wall by the table. The top of the lighthouse was visible above the brown-paper wrapping. She hunkered down in front of it, still in awe of how Sean had captured the feeling of the location with a minimum of brush strokes.

  She reached out and pulled the paper back to expose more of the canvas. When Joe had found her yesterday at the lighthouse, her plan for her stay on Shelter Island had been to see her family’s old house, take care of the sale, then donate a very large sum at the festival ball into a general fund for restoration of the town and island. She hadn’t really cared what, precisely, the money was used for, just that people knew who’d given it.

  Now that plan had changed. She was going to earmark her donation for the restoration of the old lighthouse. And then she’d make sure that the fund for upkeep wouldn’t go dry. The lighthouse beacon would be reactivated and stay that way. No one else would have to imagine the light the way she had when she was a kid. As apparently the tortured artist Sean had become had imagined it.

  She grabbed a jacket, not the leather one, but a navy rain-proof, hooded windbreaker. When she stepped outside, the sounds of the celebration rushed at her on the cold, wet air.

  Minutes later she was in her car and on the road heading north, impeded by the crush of vehicles heading to the festival. The mist turned to rain and she turned on her windshield wipers. She passed the newspaper office, saw a sign on the door, Gone To Celebrate, and kept going, mindful of pedestrians, many of whom treated the festival like Mardi Gras, swarming all over the streets, not bothering to check for cars. Some were dressed in pirate costumes, and the need for umbrellas didn’t seem to dampen their spirits in the least.

  She finally made it out of town, putting the colorful sights and sounds behind her, and took the same road she’d taken to the lighthouse the day before. As she passed some scattered houses, she wondered offhandedly if any of them were Joe’s parents’. She’d never really known where the Lawrences lived when she’d lived here. She’d never cared.

  She passed the turnoff for the clearing where she’d parked to visit the lighthouse. Staying on the same road, she literally circled the island until she was on the far western side, approaching Bent River, the only other town on the island, which she’d seldom visited as a child. It still consisted of only three or four houses, a few peach orchards, a gas station, a small restaurant and a general store, none of the expansion that Shelter Bay had enjoyed.

  When at last she reached the ferry landing, she slowed, swung a U-turn and went back the way she’d come. As she drove, she put in a call to Roz to tell her to contact the committee who arranged her original donation and change the conditions of usage for the money. When she hung up, she spotted the restaurant in Bent River and went in for lunch. After lingering over coffee and dessert, she finally left and kept driving. She looked ahead and caught a glimpse of the top of the lighthouse over the massive trees.

  This time she pulled into the clearing on the bluffs and stayed in the car with the engine running and heater blowing warm air. There was no place to go on the island. No place to just forget and relax. No place to wander. Every place was her past, butting up against her with agonizing consistency. Cocooned in the car, she knew she didn’t want to go back to the town and the festival. She no longer wanted to drive around, either, going in circles and getting nowhere. And finding Joe would be hopeless. He could be anywhere, and probably with his son.

  Finally, she turned off the car and got out, taking her keys and phone. She went down to the beach, then walked slowly toward the water’s edge.

  The mainland was almost lost in the grayness and rain. A distant place. A place she thought of as the promised land, when, as a child, she’d sat here looking out across the water, pretending the beam from the lighthouse could show it to her. It seemed fitting now to donate her money to get the light actually lit.

  “Hey, there!” Startled, she turned to see Joe approaching and a little boy playing on the sand behind him. Her heart raced for a moment. “I called this time,” he said as he came closer. “Didn’t want you to think I was sneaking up on you.”

  He had on a yellow slicker, but the hood was pushed back and his hair gleamed with droplets of rain. “Are you following me?” she asked, forcing a smile

  JOE FLINCHED slightly at her question. All he knew for sure was that he was glad she was here, and he liked looking at her.

  He offered her a wry smile in return. “I thought maybe you were following me, and tried to throw me off by getting here first and waiting for me to show up.”

  “That makes no sense,” she murmured.

  “I know,” he admitted. “I was going for a joke, but it didn’t make it, did it?”

  Her smile looked even more forced. “No, it didn’t.”

  “Too bad,” he said, suddenly not at all sure he could ever make her really smile, and jealous of the man who could. “So, what are you doing here again?” he asked.

  “It’s too crazy in town. I was going to get in touch with you and see if you had time for that interview, but the office was closed, so I went for a drive. But driving around here just brings you back where you started.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, you can only go so far before you start repeating yourself.”

  “Got it! I got it!”

  His son was rushing along the beach toward them, his rubber boots slapping on the hard sand and his yellow slicker flapping around him. His pale blond hair ruffled in the breeze and his face was flushed with excitement.

  “See, I winned.” Alex held a wiggling crab in his hand. “I got it.”

  The excitement in the three-year-old suddenly turned to something akin to shyness. He stopped three feet or so from them, fell silent and stared at Alegra. The crab was twisting to get free.

  Joe knew that parents always thought their kids were perfect, but Alex, sweet-natured and bright, with deep blue eyes set in a face that was almost angelic, was truly perfect, everything a parent would ever want in a child. Joe was deeply in love with him.

  He could never understand how Jean had been able to just walk away, with
only a few phone calls here and there, and just a single visit a year ago. And the longer it went with Jean not demanding anything more, the more easily Joe breathed.

  Now Alex was here with him, on a beach, with Alegra, and showing her his prize crab. “I winned,” he said again in a small voice.

  “What did you win?” Alegra asked, keeping a wary eye on the wild crustacean.

  Alex grinned. “I winned a nickel.” He looked at Joe. “Right, Daddy?”

  “Right.”

  “He’s a great crab!” Alex said, his excitement returning, and without warning, he lunged toward Alegra with the infuriated crab in tow. Alegra stumbled backward in her attempt to evade contact with the crustacean and fell to the sand on her backside. Alex was so startled he let go of the crab—and it landed right in the middle of Alegra’s chest.

  Both Alex and Alegra screamed, but for totally different reasons. Alex was alarmed, but Alegra was horrified. She swiped frantically at the crab without success. So Joe took over, crouching above Alegra, and plucking the hapless crab from her chest and returning it to Alex. Alegra scooted backward, her face flushed and her eyes never leaving the flailing crab in his son’s hand.

  “Take it away,” she said in a breathless voice. “Just get it out of here.”

  “It’s okay,” Joe said as he got to his feet, then helped Alegra to hers. “It’s under control.”

  She glared at him, then brushed at her pants as she muttered, “I hate those things.”

  “They’re delicious,” Joe said.

  She gave him another glare. “Steamed I can take. Mean and nasty and alive, I can’t.” She flashed a look at Alex, who seemed oblivious to her discomfort, and her voice was less harsh when she spoke to him. “Please, get that thing out of here.”

  “Okay, okay,” Joe said, resigned, and turned to take the crab from Alex. Then he crossed to a grouping of rocks, released the crustacean and watched it scurry into the protection of the nearest crevice. He walked back to Alegra, who was brushing at her bottom now.

  “What a mess,” she complained.

  “I think the poor crab got the worst of it.”

  “How do you figure that?” she asked. “Because your son threw it at me?”

  “Alex was just offering you a closer look.”

  “I never asked for one,” she said, obviously still upset.

  Joe decided it was time for a proper introduction. “Alex,” he said, touching his son on the shoulder, “this is Ms. Reynolds.” He shifted his gaze to Alegra. “This is my son, Alex, the great crab hunter.”

  Alegra looked at his little boy, but maintained her distance. “Nice to meet you, Alex.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alex said without prompting. Joe felt a rush of pride.

  “No problem,” Alegra said without much conviction in her voice.

  “He got scared,” the boy said.

  “He wasn’t the only one,” she responded wryly.

  “Well, he’s gone now, Alegra,” Joe said, “unless you want me to go after him and get him for your dinner?”

  She shook her head and sighed. “And all I wanted was some peace and quiet.”

  Joe heard this as a rebuke, as if he and Alex had broken that peace and quiet for her, which, he admitted, they probably had. He touched Alex on the shoulder again. “Let’s get going so the lady can have her peace and quiet.”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly. “I just meant that the craziness in town is just too much…and then the crab…”

  “Alex, go and look for another crab, but stay in sight, and no going in the water.” As the boy darted away, Joe called after him, “And no climbing!”

  Joe turned to Alegra. “Tomorrow things should be calmer. A wine tasting in the afternoon helps things mellow out.” He couldn’t resist adding, “You know, general debauchery.”

  She gave the faintest suggestion of a genuine smile, and his groin tightened. Damn it, he should have left with Alex. Despite his desire to see her really smile, he knew that he probably shouldn’t be anywhere nearby when it happened.

  “There’s one thing I just don’t get about you,” he said. “You’re here, at the busiest, noisiest time of the year, but you don’t want any part of it.”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip, then shrugged. “So, I’m not into debauchery.”

  Another answer that didn’t tell him anything. “What are you into, Alegra Reynolds?”

  “Well, not crabs, that’s for sure.” She turned and looked over at Alex, who was tugging on a tangled mess of seaweed. “You said his mother’s in Africa?”

  She’d deflected another question and Joe sighed inwardly. “Yeah, Zambia,” he said bitterly, “probably taking pictures of baby elephants or giraffes, but I don’t think she has more than two or three pictures of Alex.” Why in hell had he told her that? “But it’s her choice.”

  Joe didn’t miss the way she rotated her head as if freeing up tension in her neck muscles. “Just because she gave birth to him, doesn’t make her a mother,” she said.

  That simplicity stunned him. The truth was there, laid bare between them. Jean had given birth to Alex, but had never been a mother to him. “Some people should never have children,” he said for lack of any other point of wisdom.

  “Too bad you never know who should or shouldn’t until it’s too late,” she said softly. Was that a tinge of pain he saw in her eyes? “And the child doesn’t have any say in it or any choices.”

  He knew she couldn’t possibly know Jean’s shortcomings, beyond what he’d told her, and he sensed her words weren’t even about his ex-wife. “Exactly,” he replied, “and Jean’s choice was work.”

  “You make work sound like a four-letter word,” Alegra murmured.

  He laughed. “Lady, work is a four-letter word. Literally.”

  There was nothing for a moment, then in a sudden burst, he got his wish. Her smile came out full force. It dimpled her cheeks, flushed her skin and made her eyes shine. He could barely breathe as he watched her.

  “Touché,” she said, the words mingling with her own laughter.

  He pushed his hands into his pockets, and although he turned his gaze to his son, who was digging furiously into the wet sand at the water’s edge, all he really saw was that smile. And his brain was racing through other four-letter words. Need. Want. Lust. He stopped it there and moved away, jogging toward Alex as he tried to think of a four-letter word for crazy.

  He couldn’t think of one.

  Chapter Seven

  Alegra felt as if she’d stepped into a parallel universe that was tipping in the oddest direction. She was talking about mothers with Joe and had stopped him leaving, so she was now on the beach with him and a three-year-old boy whose jewel-like blue eyes matched his father’s perfectly. She watched Joe crouch by Alex and put his arm around the child.

  She’d never thought about kids, never chose to be around them. Yet here she was feeling an ache in her middle for a little boy whose mother didn’t want him. A child who was digging in the sand as if his life depended on it while his father held on to him.

  She could have just left. But instead, she moved closer to the two of them. She saw that Alex had captured another crab, a smaller one, but one just as angry at being trapped as the other crab had been. The child’s tiny hand had a firm grip on the shell, and the pincers flashed in the air in erratic swipes.

  “Whoa,” Joe said, taking the crab from Alex and staring down at it. “This one’s nice, really nice.” He glanced at Alegra, then held the crab up for her to see, but didn’t push it toward her at all. “What do you think?”

  “Impressive,” she said, not going any closer.

  Alex clapped with glee. “I winned, I winned again!”

  “You sure did.” Joe put the crab down and for one horrible moment she was sure the critter was going to make a beeline for her. But then it scurried back between Joe’s boots and into the water and was gone.

  “Smart crab,” she murmured and didn’t mis
s the flash of a smile as Joe stood by her.

  “He’ll be dinner for someone sooner or later,” he said.

  “You know,” she said, “I’m rethinking. Maybe I’ll stop eating seafood altogether.”

  Joe’s chuckle sent a tiny frisson of pleasure through her. “If you see a bull with horns,” he said, “are you swearing off beef?”

  She smiled. “I’ll just avoid bulls.”

  Alex tugged on his father’s slicker. “More, Daddy, please?”

  “Sure, one more, but let’s go farther down the beach. The crabs here need a break from terrorism for a while.”

  “Okay,” the boy said, then took off.

  Joe motioned in the direction Alex had gone. “Coming?”

  Of course not, she should have said, but just nodded and fell in step beside him.

  She heard him take a breath before saying, “So, let’s get started on the piece for the paper.”

  “You don’t have a notebook, and I don’t have my press release with me again,” she said.

  “I’ve got an excellent memory, so no notebook needed, and I don’t want to see your press release. This is a ‘human interest’ story, so it’s about the human part, not the smoke and mirrors.”

  Smoke and mirrors? “It’s just the facts, not fiction,” she said, staring straight ahead of them.

  “Okay, I’ll check it out later. For now, let’s start at the beginning. Where did you grow up?”

  “My childhood isn’t important,” she said, at the same time seeing this man’s son thrilled to be on the beach with his dad hunting for crabs. His childhood would be important when he grew up. He’d remember it with a smile. She clenched her hands into fists in her pockets.

  “What’s the old saying that our past makes our present possible?”

  “Very philosophical,” she murmured. Her past had made her what she was, but it was despite her past, not because of it.

  “That’s as deep as I get,” he said. “So let’s keep it basic. Where did it all start?”

  She squinted into the distance. She could absolutely tell him where the part of her past she valued had started—the moment she got to her grandmother’s house. “South of San Francisco.” It had been a tiny house in a low-income area, but it had been a true sanctuary for her when she’d arrived right after high school graduation. “I was there until I graduated from college.”