As I start to walk out of the room, I spy my sunglasses on the dresser. Definitely will need these now that the sun is out. I take my hair out of its bun, and run my fingers through the loose waves. I push my sunglasses on like a headband and glance in the mirror.
Ready.
Court is waiting for me as I enter the kitchen.
“Much better boat-wear. You also look more comfortable.”
I do feel more comfortable, but he’s not supposed to notice that. Why does Court pick up on vibes I don’t want to give out? “How can one not be comfortable in slouchy clothes?”
“Slouchy? I like that word. Come on, slouch.”
I follow him to his SUV wondering what I’m really doing.
WHEN HE SAID dinner on a boat, he meant dinner on a boat. I thought casual dinner cruise or something along those lines. But no, we picked up dinner from a local grocer, and we are on his boat.
It’s more like a yacht. Small yacht if there is such a thing.
But we aren’t going anywhere.
We are going to sit in his boat, in the slip.
This seems to be the thing to do on a Friday night in Hampton Cove.
The marina is about a ten-minute drive from the grocery store. After parking his SUV, he takes a picnic basket out of the back. We each carry a couple of bags of food, and I follow him as we make our way down the wooden dock to his boat.
He nods to a couple of people as we walk. By the surprised looks on their faces, I wonder how long it’s been since he’s done this.
Or who he has done this with last.
Music drifts from different boats, from classic rock songs to classical instrumentals. White party lights drape across some of the bigger boats.
Strands of untamed hair keep flying in my face, bringing images of Bristol and Darling to mind.
We sit on the top level of the boat. The view is amazing, enabling us to see everything from the endless water to the other boats. Court’s shirt billows as he pulls out two wine glasses from the picnic basket. He digs through a compartment and comes up with a corkscrew.
“One glass of Pinot Noir coming up.”
He hands me the glasses as he uncorks the wine. Unceremoniously, he pours the wine, then sets the bottle in a wine bucket.
He holds his glass up in a toasting position, and I follow suit. As our glasses touch I can’t help notice a haunted look in his eyes. The still-bright sky, summer breeze, and bay-water scent can’t erase the sadness that this man has inside of him.
“To a night of forgetting everything but the here and now,” he toasts.
Our gaze doesn’t break as we each sip our wine. In as much as I’m reading what he’s feeling, I wonder what, if anything, he thinks about me? Can he see, through my eyes, the war raging inside of me?
Frankly, I’m tired of my inner battle. Tired of thinking about heartbreak and losing the life I’d known for so long. What could be the harm in letting it all go for one evening?
One evening with a guy who doesn’t know anything about me, really. Who isn’t pressuring me to live up to standards he has set for his life. The toast he made is like a balm to my heart. Maybe I can forget for one evening.
It’s certainly worth a try.
I settle onto the bench seat. “This is nice. I’ve never had dinner on a boat, in a slip at a dock.”
“As you can see, Friday nights are hopping at the marina. I bring the girls out here sometimes. They love it. Although they do get restless quickly. It’s a fast dinner night when they are here.”
I laugh. “I can imagine.”
I also imagine their hair flying all over the place. I’m sure Crystal has tamed that beast by now.
Having put our food into a cooler, Court joins me on the seat. There’s plenty of room for more than two people, but he chooses to sit closer to me, rather than farther away. His knee almost brushes mine, and I try not to think about his body touching mine.
This dinner seems too intimate for a man trying to make his friend mad. It also seems too intimate for a man who doesn’t know a woman very well. How about too intimate for a man who’s still mourning the loss of his wife?
I’m not sure what I will say if he starts in about how he and MaryLeigh used to come here. Maybe he doesn’t have anyone to talk to about his loss?
“I don’t take this boat out nearly enough.” Court taps the back of the boat.
“What’s stopping you? Time?”
He twirls his wine glass between his thumb and forefinger. “Time, memories, any number of things.”
“I understand.”
“Maybe fear.”
Surprised by his admission, I take a sip of the wine. “Fear? What could you be afraid of?”
“You say you like I’m a different species from the rest of the world.”
I place my hand on my forehead. “You know what I mean.”
“This thing with my dad scared me. Jolted me back to life, in a way.”
“Back to life?”
“It’s like nothing mattered to me for a long time. And that’s not good. It’s like I was afraid of living. Really living.”
For a long time translates into when MaryLeigh died. I know this. “Sometimes we need a kick-start.”
He looks at me. “Did you need a kick-start? Is that why you came south, on a whim, at the last minute, to be a nanny, something which you had never done before?”
The fading sun seems much warmer now that it had a few minutes ago. I brush my blowing hair away from my eyes, grateful for the respite it gives me before answering. “If I’m honest, yes.”
“Funny, isn’t it, how things work out. Here we are, sitting on this boat, you and me, strangers except for some professional knowledge we have of each other, yet to me, this feels natural. Not strained or trying in any way.”
“Like we don’t have to put on airs, pretend we’re feeling one way when we’re not. Pretend we’re somebody we’re not.” I hope I say the words convincingly as I sip my wine.
“You have no expectations of me.”
“Except to give me a paycheck.”
He wants to smile, I can tell, but it doesn’t quite happen. He does continue to look at me though.
Searching.
His eyes are still guarded, but softer.
“Neighbor! Hi.”
Court and I both look toward the dock. I see the guy that nodded to me as I was running. He’s holding hands with a smiling blonde woman, who despite a scar running across her cheek, is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.
“Stephen, isn’t it?” Court says.
“It is. And this is my wife, Jenny.”
“Nice to meet you.” Jenny’s gaze focuses on me.
Court catches on. “This is Shelby. My children’s nanny.”
“Hi,” I say as both Stephen and Jenny smile like he’s telling the biggest lie ever. And I can’t blame them for thinking he’s lying. I’m draped across the bench seat of this boat, wine glass in hand.
Working hard for the money, as the song goes. “Nice to meet you.” I nod toward Stephen. “I saw you running the other morning.”
He nods, recognition on his face. “Yes. The running junkies get out early.”
“Not early enough,” I say. “I started leaving an hour earlier. This heat is brutal.”
“I guess I’m used to it.”
Stephen’s thumb brushes Jenny’s hand as he speaks. She’s simply radiant and beautiful and lovely looking.
Even with that scar.
Must be nice.
But I can tell, looking at her and Stephen, that it comes from within. That the beauty I’m seeing isn’t necessarily about the way they’re put together physically, although they are put together beautifully in a way a lot of people wished they were put together.
With the momentary silence, the atmosphere becomes awkward.
“Would you care to join us?” Court asks.
“I wish we could, but we have some friends expecting us.” Stephen point
s further down the dock.
Jenny looks my way. “You should bring the girls over. Our housekeeper, Teresa, has a nine-year-old girl, Phoebe. I know she would love some company. Especially now that school’s out.”
“I’ll do that. Maybe next week.” Anything to keep the girls busy sounds like a good plan to me.
“Also,” Stephen says. “I know my uncle Roger has been over to your place a couple of times. We are still having church in my house. We’d love to have you. We have a great ministry started. There are quite a number of kids coming. Your girls might like it. And it’s close to home.”
I sense the atmosphere around Court has tensed.
Stifled.
Shifted.
He takes a long sip of his wine. Probably trying to think of a polite way to refuse the beautiful couple’s offer of attending church.
At their house, no less.
I’ve heard of people doing that but have never personally known any house church people.
“We’ll think about it,” Court says. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“All right. I’m glad we ran into you.” Stephen takes a step back. “Nice meeting you, Shelby. We hope we see you guys soon.”
“Bye,” Jenny says.
Court and I say goodbye and settle back on the bench seat as they walk down the dock.
“So now you’ve met your neighbors.”
“I’ve actually met Stephen once before. There was a wedding going on in the cul-de-sac, and Bristol and Darling decided to have a fight in the street. In the middle of the wedding. It wasn’t the best of days. Stephen met me in the street to see if he could be of any help.”
“How cool to have a wedding at that gazebo. Who got married?”
Court stretches his arm across the back of the seat, his fingertips dangerously close to my shoulder. They could touch me if they wanted to. I want them to.
“The people who live across the cul-de-sac from me, but I don’t know them.”
Court’s voice reels me back to the fact that he is talking and we are having a conversation. I need to participate. “Sounds to me like you need to get to know your neighbors. They seem to have a lot of fun.”
“I’m usually working.” He takes a sip of his wine.
“Maybe we can change that.”
“Maybe.” His fingers touch the back of my shoulder. “I like the way you say we.”
The scent of the water, the feel of his hand, the romantic atmosphere.
Court’s words.
All of those things combine to make this seem like a real date. Not a date to make one’s best friend jealous. Not a date to kill time because there is nothing better to do.
If this is what happens when you forget the here and now, I might lose my whole memory bank.
MANSION
SATURDAY MORNING WE land in North Carolina in a much tamer fashion than when we had made our trip at the beginning of the week. Apparently, news of Cal’s recovery has squelched the intense media scrutiny, and no one approaches us as we exit the plane and make our way to the waiting car.
We’re silent as Court drives. I replay last night’s dinner through my mind. A real date normally ends with a kiss.
And ours didn’t.
So I’m not sure what to call what happened and didn’t happen last night. Maybe it was a night of simply relaxing. Nothing more.
Nothing less.
“Ready to get back to work?” Court asks as we drive down a long driveway.
“Sure. It’s what you pay me for, right?”
He doesn’t answer, but that’s okay, because I’m too busy focusing on the house that comes into view.
And I thought Court’s house was big.
It has nothing on this gorgeous mansion nestled in the midst of rolling green hills. Perfectly manicured, sculpted and colorful, the landscape has me at a loss for words. “This is where your mom and dad live?”
“This is Casa de Treyhune.”
I glance over at Court, knowing in that moment that he will never, ever, ever see where my parents live.
Ever.
Although my mom is a neat freak, and my dad takes pride in his yard, which consists of a patch of grass surrounding the trailer, there’s a level of discomfort that settles in my soul regarding the home I grew up in.
And yes, it is a home in every sense of the word. Clean, loving, gracious.
Full of Jesus.
But those things didn’t seem important to the other kids at school. The kids who lived in the big houses turned their noses up at kids like me.
Until Paul took notice of me.
Then when Paul unnoticed me, after I gave him the most precious gift I could give a boy, I was once again the recipient of upturned noses and snobbish behavior.
I learned early on it’s who you are in life that matters.
And what you have establishes who you are.
We park the car and barely have the doors open when Bristol and Darling come running out to meet us.
Court rather.
I stand to the side and watch the girls’ amazing affection for their father, who hugs them in return.
“Daddy, we’re so glad you’re back. We missed you. Grandpa Cal is here. He came home yesterday.”
As they are all wrapped in their hug I look closer at the girls, not believing what I’m seeing.
Their hair.
It’s still a mess.
Tangled, wrangled and hanging down their backs. They keep pushing it out of their faces.
Oh well, who am I to judge? They were around me for over twenty-four hours and I honestly had no time to take a brush to it.
With Cal’s return and the time needed to prepare for that, Vera and Crystal probably have been busy doing other things.
More important things than worrying about two girls who are happy with things the way they are.
Maybe that’s the issue.
Why fix what’s not broke?
At Court’s prompt, the girls come over and give me a hug.
“Have you been having fun?” I ask.
“Yes! And we’re going to have a party!”
They are jumping up and down, and it’s then I notice they are still wearing their bands on their wrists. “Party?”
“For Father’s Day. Daddy, we made you a present.” Bristol smiles big as she speaks.
Darling pulls Bristol’s sleeve. “You weren’t supposed to tell him, Bristol. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
Crossing her arms, Darling’s lower lip can’t stick out much further.
Do these girls always fight?
“It’s okay, Darling. Whatever it is will still be a surprise. Let’s go inside. I want to see Grandpa Cal.”
My knees are shaky as we walk toward the house and in the door. We enter from the garage into the biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen in my life. It sparkles and shines and boasts the newest and best appliances. Yet it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.
It brings memories of my parents’ home to my mind, which is crazy. My parents’ trailer could almost fit in this kitchen alone.
I can hear the buzz of conversation not far away. We continue walking and enter a great room where a crowd is gathered. I should have known by the amount of cars outside that there were plenty of people here, but somehow, around Court, I’m not always thinking straight.
I tend to be thinking about him and how attractive he is, and how I’m so much not like him, that the realities of my surroundings don’t come into focus until much later.
Like now.
Slowly everyone realizes we are here. I see Crystal and her twins. Storm couldn’t hide in a crowd even if he wanted to.
I notice Davey sitting away from everyone on the hearth of a stacked stone fireplace that reaches all the way to the top of the cathedral ceiling. Everyone starts backing away from the circle they have made.
The circle around Cal Treyhune.
My breath hitches as I realize I’m about to meet one of racing’s greatest, and guilt
assails me at how my father would love to be in this moment. Me, not so much.
Yet here I am.
I hang back as Court approaches his father.
Greetings of hello and hugs all serenade Court as he makes his way to Cal. Vera stays close by Cal’s side, her arm never leaving his shoulder, and the look of love never leaving her face.
“Dad. You have no idea how good it is to see you.”
Court leans over and hugs his father, whose eyes tear up when he sees his son.
“Good to see you, Court.”
Their exchange makes me ache for my father. For the hugs he gives me.
For the love he gives me.
In moments the silent crowd is silent no more. Conversation reigns and I have trouble deciding where to focus my interest.
Bristol and Darling are chatting with Taylor and Saylor. Davey is focused on his tablet.
Crystal makes her way to me. “Hi, Shelby. Don’t let this crowd overwhelm you. They wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Is it that obvious?”
She laughs. “Yes. But like I said, we’re harmless. And there will be even more of us tomorrow. This is what we call breaking you in gently.”
“Thanks for that.” In as many people are gathered, my gaze keeps drifting to Court. Whoever was sitting in the chair closest to Cal gave it up, and Court is sitting there now. He and his father seem to have a lot to talk about, while Vera’s gaze scans her living room.
But she doesn’t leave Cal’s side.
“Are you guys leaving tomorrow night?” Crystal asks.
“That’s the plan. I only packed for one night per Court’s instructions.”
“Maybe the girls and I can come down for a visit this summer. Taylor and Saylor really miss Court’s girls. They spent so much time together until Court whisked them all away to Florida. I don’t want them to lose that bond, you know?”
Yes, I know that bond. Or rather, I know what it’s like not to have that bond. “Yeah. That would be great. I’m sure the girls would love to have company.”
My thoughts drift to the conversation we had with Stephen and Jenny regarding their housekeeper’s daughter, Phoebe. I need to remember that and ask the girls if they would be interested in meeting her.
Rich in Faith (Richness in Faith, Book 3) Page 9
