Kissing Bisky had been one of the high points of his life. It had been like magic, there in the place where all his childhood misery had happened. She’d basically transformed that misery into joy. Now, he’d never have only bad memories of his home place; he’d always be able to think of Bisky and moonlight kisses.
Except that it had been a mistake, and it couldn’t happen again.
A relationship with Bisky was unthinkable. She was a dear, longtime friend, and he couldn’t do that to her. He didn’t deserve her. He couldn’t keep her and her daughter safe.
That last thought made him pause. He hadn’t kept Jenna safe, and he’d always, always regret that. At the same time, he’d heard what Sunny had said and it was true: parents left their teenage kids home alone all the time. He couldn’t have stayed chained to Jenna’s side forever, every moment, protecting her. It had just been rotten bad luck that the intruder had come that day, and she’d woken up.
But that was excusing himself for his inadequacies, wasn’t it? Trying to talk himself into the fact that he was a decent man who could earn the love of a good woman.
He couldn’t.
Bisky had agreed that the kiss shouldn’t have happened, that it had been a fluke. She hadn’t taken it seriously.
A text from her pinged into his phone, and his heart leaped.
Dog is fine, no ill effects. Evan is getting in touch with the teenagers’ parents.
Evan. Great. His stomach soured.
He tried to focus on the bookshelves in front of him rather than on the thoughts of last night. He ran a hand over the thrillers, his preferred type of books, but he’d gotten turned off by them since Jenna’s death. He hadn’t been reading much, and he should. He should buy some books and take them home and spend more of his evenings reading, and less time thinking about Bisky.
“Need help finding something?” Mary asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m off the violent books, but I like a page-turner.”
She nodded. “Science fiction, maybe? Space opera?”
Maybe it would be good to visit another world entirely. He’d liked that type of books when he was younger. “Sure. Help me pick one out?”
She led him over to the science fiction shelves and talked him into buying the first book in a couple of trilogies. “I have something else you might like, too,” she said, and led him over to the memoirs. She pulled a thick volume off the shelves. “This man had a terrible crisis in his life, and he went into the woods for a year to think. Worked everything out. Want to try it?”
“You’re going to break the bank,” he complained jokingly.
“Just doing my job,” she said. She led him to the counter, where he found a fourth book, this one a political analysis. He handed her his credit card and was soon the owner of four new books, considerably poorer, but he was looking forward to digging into them.
“Let’s sit down and meet while we can. Julie, my assistant, should be here any minute, and then we know we won’t be disturbed.”
“Sure.” He followed her to the little circle of chairs and sat down.
“Now,” she said, leaning forward. “Tell me how things are going. Are you all right?”
“Yes, doing fine. I’m grateful for the program.”
She waved a hand like that wasn’t what she’d meant. “Are you going to your counseling? What did you think of the dog trainer?”
“Counseling’s going well. The trainer, not so much,” he said, and told her about it.
She nodded. “I wanted to hear your side of it. She reported back to me that I’d misunderstood her in the interview and she could really only work with puppies, not, quote, damaged dogs.”
“I’m sure she had a thing or two to say about me and Sunny as well.”
One side of Mary’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. “She did. I’m doubting that she’s the right choice, but frankly, she was the only applicant. I’ll talk to her. Meanwhile, are you getting along with Bisky, working okay with her?”
“Yes, it’s fine,” he said quickly. He didn’t dare say too much about Bisky, not when things were so oddly intense between them.
“Don’t let her do all the work,” Mary warned. “That’s her tendency.”
“Of course.” He frowned. Was he doing that? “Do you think I’m not shouldering enough of the responsibility, say for the teen program?” He was all too familiar with colleagues who didn’t take on their fair share of the burden. He’d always tried to do a little more than his share, which was, he’d been told, the key to succeeding at a job as well as succeeding at relationships, like marriage.
Of course, his efforts to do more than his share in marriage hadn’t worked out too well.
Mary leaned back in her chair. “I think you’re doing just fine, but why don’t you tell me about what you’re planning for the teens?”
So he talked about the museum work and the childcare option for kids that didn’t want to do the museum stuff. How they’d planned to offer the choice of working with dogs, but weren’t clear on whether that was an idea that would work.
Mary listened and nodded. “As a temporary third option, I could take on a couple of the kids to do some work in my shop. I’m opening out walls for a new office and building some shelves and flowerboxes in front, too. Do you think your kids could help with that?”
“Probably.” He was grateful she was getting involved, giving more ways for the teenagers to be of use. “I’m not a super handyman or carpenter, but I’m good at watching YouTube videos and figuring things out.”
“Perfect.” She studied him. “So is working with our teenagers going to be helpful to you, in terms of your healing?”
He hesitated, and then, slowly, nodded. “I think so,” he said. “It’s difficult, though.”
“Because of your daughter.” It wasn’t a question.
“Exactly.”
Mary nodded. “It took time before I could be around young children after losing my daughter.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Bisky mentioned something about that.”
“It’s not something I talk about very often. Although more often than in the past.” She gave him the shadow of a smile. “My daughter was killed in an on-purpose car crash when she was five years old. The perpetrator was hired by my ex-husband.”
He blew out a breath. “Wow. I’m sorry.” That might be the only thing worse than random violence: violence initiated by a family member. All of it turned his stomach.
“Thank you.” She slipped off her shoes and pulled her legs up under herself. “I struggled quite a bit with guilt. Thinking what he’d done was my fault. Going over and over all the things I could have done differently that day.”
“Me, too.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “That’s exactly what I do. If only I hadn’t gone to the store that day. If only I’d taken her with me. If only I’d called to check that my ex was picking her up.”
Unlike most people, Mary didn’t jump into saying he was wrong and telling him he shouldn’t blame himself. She just nodded ruefully. “I know. If only I’d insisted on going along. Because, yes, I wished I’d been in that car with her. To share her last moments, and a lot of times, I wanted to die myself.”
“I’d have taken a bullet for Jenna anytime,” he agreed. “And there were many times I wanted to die.”
Mary looked concerned. “You’re not having suicidal thoughts now, are you?”
He thought. “No, not anymore. I think being here is healing. The counseling is helping, but so are all the people in Pleasant Shores.”
“I felt the same.” She waved to a woman who’d come in and stationed herself behind the counter. “Don’t be surprised,” she said, “if things get worse before they get better. Because you will get past the guilt. But not past...” She trailed off.
“I am getting pas
t the guilt, at least a little. But what were you going to say?”
“Just that...when the guilt goes, the grief can flow in even more, for a while. Part of your mind’s been using the guilt to keep the grief at bay.”
That was food for thought. “Do you have a picture of your daughter?” he asked.
She smiled, stood, and beckoned to him. “Take a look at our children’s nook,” she said.
Indeed, she’d set up a lively children’s book area, with colorful rugs and cushions, and picture books face-out on the walls. Above the whole thing was a banner that said Daisy’s Corner. And on a high shelf were framed pictures of an adorable girl who looked to be about five years old.
“Take one down,” she urged him. “I can’t reach them.”
He reached for the nearest one. It was your standard baby-with-teddy-bear portrait that it seemed like every parent had made, when their kid was at a cute toddler stage.
He’d had one of Jenna. He wondered what had happened to it.
“She was beautiful,” he said.
Mary’s eyes shone with unshed tears, but she smiled. “She was. I never want to forget the good times. She loved reading her little books, even as young as she was.” She cleared her throat and brushed fingertips under her eyes. “Anyway. We keep a collection going and donate books to low-income children. Including some of those right here in Pleasant Shores.”
He looked around. Could he ever get to the stage where he’d do something in Jenna’s memory?
“Do you have a picture of your daughter?” she asked.
He nodded and scrolled through his phone. He found one he’d always loved: Jenna and one of her friends, laughing as they mugged for the camera on a sunny day when he’d taken them hiking. The hike had devolved into wading in the creek and sunbathing, but she’d been happy, and that was what mattered.
“Lovely,” Mary said. “She was how old when she was killed?”
He appreciated that she didn’t gloss over what had happened, because it meant he didn’t have to tiptoe around to avoid upsetting her. “Fifteen,” he said.
“Heartbreaking.” She put an arm around him as they both turned toward the door. She was a tiny woman, and almost twice his age, but they were connected in a way most people never would be. He admired her spirit. Maybe he could learn something from her.
“Keep me updated on the teenagers,” she said. “And if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks.” And William walked out into the sunlight of a warm day, feeling emotional, but better.
He walked through town slowly, taking in the shore birds overhead and the neighbors walking and the flowers pushing their way out of the earth. Not thinking; just enjoying.
He passed the Blue House and there was Victory Cottage. Maybe for the first time, he appreciated what it was, what Mary was doing for the community. She was something else.
He started up the sidewalk to the front porch and then stopped.
Sitting on the front stoop, in the shadow of one of the evergreen bushes, was his ex-wife. She didn’t look happy.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THAT SUNDAY, BISKY focused on cleaning up after the church luncheon. She wasn’t going to think about the fact that she hadn’t seen William all of yesterday, nor that he hadn’t come to services today.
Sure, he’d come to church on his own last Sunday, had stayed for the lunch. That didn’t obligate him to come every week, did it?
She wiped down the last of the long tables. It was actually good he hadn’t come. For one thing, she’d been on cooking and cleanup duty and wouldn’t have had time to spend with him. If he’d even wanted to spend time.
For another thing, she’d agreed to stay and help get the church gardens ready for flower planting. That might take up all afternoon.
He could have helped.
But why should William help? He wasn’t really connected in this town. He was here temporarily.
And he’d thought it was a mistake to kiss her. He’d apologized for it.
That was over.
At least, probably. The trouble was, she couldn’t help remembering. Couldn’t help touching her mouth when she remembered the feel of his lips on hers. Couldn’t help the squiggly feeling in her stomach when she thought about how his broad back had felt beneath her hands. Couldn’t help the way her heart warmed when she remembered how he’d held her on his lap, as if she were a precious treasure and a desirable woman, all at once.
She’d brought an old T-shirt and sneakers for gardening, so she put them on and went outside and got to work hauling wheelbarrows of mulch while the men argued over how to work the old rototiller and the other women went ahead and turned over the soil by hand. They had flower beds in front of the church, but in back, they cultivated a big garden for church members and community folks in need. It was one of Bisky’s favorite service activities to do for the church. She wasn’t much for committees and arguing over budgets, but she was strong and liked to be outside.
The dirt smelled good. Kayla was here, and Mary, and when Bisky took a break, she sat down beside them. They were pulling early weeds in one of the flower gardens.
“I’m surprised you’re here,” she said to Mary, because Mary attended the Catholic church in town.
Mary smiled up at her. “I like your church’s activities, and there’s no reason I can’t do both. Besides, sometimes I have to escape Kirk. He’s terrific, but overwhelming.”
“I wish I had someone overwhelming,” Kayla said, and then slapped her hand to her mouth. “Did I really say that? I don’t even mean it.”
Bisky and Mary looked at each other. “It’s okay to have mixed feelings about men,” Mary said. “Lord knows, they warrant it.”
“Agreed.” Bisky didn’t want to say more. Mixed feelings definitely described how she felt about William right now. She loved her old friend, but the new version of him roused feelings in herself she didn’t understand, didn’t necessarily like. Warm, tender feelings that could make you weak, soften your shell like a just-molted blue crab, the most vulnerable of creatures.
Behind them there was a squeaking sound and heavy breathing as Primrose Miller came along the path on her new, bright red motorized scooter. “Doesn’t that look pretty,” she said, leaning back in her seat to survey their work. “I sure do miss gardening. I used to love it.”
That made Bisky feel ashamed for her occasional desire to avoid Primrose and her gossip. “I remember your flowers from when I was a kid,” she said. “Mom always said you had the prettiest roses on the Eastern Shore.”
Primrose flushed and smiled. “Thank you, dear. Your mama used to walk you by to look at them, when you were just a little girl.”
The memory tightened Bisky’s throat. “I miss her every day,” she said, which was true. Her mother had succumbed to cancer at sixty, without much of a fight. Bisky was pretty sure her mother’s speedy death had to do with the fact that she didn’t want to go on without Bisky’s father.
“That William Gross used to walk by, too,” Primrose said. “In fact, if I’m not mistaken, you and he ran through my flower beds a time or two, trampled things down.”
“I remember throwing a ball that landed in them,” Bisky confessed. “William took the blame. Said he should have caught it, and we both tried to straighten out the flowers.”
“I remember. It was hard to be mad at the two of you, you were such a cute pair.” Primrose frowned. “I always thought you’d end up together. Wondered if he’d come back to town for that purpose, actually, but...” She trailed off.
Bisky glanced at Mary. She kept quiet about her programs and the backgrounds of the people who made use of them, and in Primrose’s case, that was a good thing. She shot Mary a smile to show she wouldn’t spill any secrets about William and the reason he’d come to Victory Cottage.
“I was surprise
d to see him with a woman yesterday,” Primrose said now. “Tiny little blonde thing. Never saw her around town before.”
Bisky studied Primrose’s face. Was she making up stories?
“Oh, yeah, I saw them too,” Kayla said. “I wondered who she was.”
Bisky’s heart lurched, which was absolutely ridiculous. There was no reason to feel strange that William had been seen in town with another woman. It wasn’t as if he and Bisky were dating or had any obligation to each other.
Mary bit her lip, and Bisky could tell she knew something about the woman. Her stomach started to churn. She’d eaten too much at the church luncheon, maybe.
“So I asked around,” Primrose said, her voice excited with the news she had. “Turns out she’s his ex-wife.”
Bisky had to move, had to get away from Primrose and the others. She stood and started shoveling mulch into a heap in the flowerbed.
It was good that Mary and Kayla were able to get Primrose onto a different subject, because Bisky was busy thinking. Thinking as she worked, which was always the best way. Giving herself a good talking-to, as Mom had always encouraged.
Men were more of a sideline, at least in her life. They weren’t the main thing. Her needs for warmth and companionship got fulfilled by her woman friends and the men she worked with, and most of all, Sunny.
Sunny won’t be around forever.
She stopped that thought right in its tracks. Sunny was an independent girl—woman, really—and would move on to live her own life, though God willing, they’d always be close.
So William had kissed her. No big deal.
He was hanging around with his ex-wife. Again, no big deal.
It was all fine. Bisky emptied the wheelbarrow in record time and went back for another load and tried to put enough energy in her step to cure the ache in her heart.
* * *
ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Sunny flopped down on Kaitlyn’s bed and regarded her two friends, Kaitlyn and Venus. Music blared from Kaitlyn’s speaker and the air reeked with perfume spray.
Home to the Harbor--A Novel Page 15
