Whisper Beach

by Shelley Noble

  She saw Joe standing on the bow of a fishing boat, giving instructions to another person. They were laughing. Joe’s rich baritone and a higher tenor.

  She couldn’t see the other person, and for one mortifying second she was afraid she’d interrupted something she shouldn’t.

  Then a head appeared from the cabin. It was a young boy. He tossed some rope to Joe. Joe reeled it in and climbed down to stow it in the utility hutch. The boy leaned over, looking in, and Van could tell Joe was explaining to him how to keep the coils from tangling.

  And the image burned into her heart. This is the way she had always imagined Joe, his son beside him working at the dairy or, she guessed now, the vineyard, with her inside with dinner ready, waiting for their return home.

  But that had been then. And here he was with a child. What about the wife? She hadn’t thought that Joe had been married. Surely someone would have mentioned it.

  There was a cold, rapidly growing pit in her stomach. She wished she could just back up and drive away. But she knew she couldn’t until she’d apologized.

  Joe looked up and saw her car. Said something to the boy, who had stopped to look, too.

  Reluctantly Van got out. She wasn’t sure of her reception. She watched Joe say something else to the boy, who went back to work, then Joe jumped to the ground and started toward her.

  She met him halfway across the yard.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She looked past him. “Who’s your helper?”

  Joe looked back. “Owen. And I’m not exactly sure what his story is, but Bud caught him clamming one night; the others got away.”

  “Leave it to Bud to pick on a kid.”

  “Yeah; anyway, I told Bud that he was working for me. He didn’t believe me but there wasn’t much he could do. And damn if the kid didn’t show up the next day, ready to work.”

  “Lucky kid.”

  Joe shrugged.

  “No, really. This was always such a great place to hang out.”

  “When the tide was in,” he said.

  “When the tide was in,” she agreed. They had all sat on the old pier with sodas, sometimes beer, waiting for a breeze, or for the next round of friends to show up.

  Sometimes they’d pile into someone’s truck or walk down to the Dairy Queen.

  “It’s gotten a little shabby. Well, a lot shabby. Grandy’s been sick.”

  “Dorie told me. Is it serious?”

  “Yes, but things are looking better now. He’s coming back next week. And I have to get back home.”

  She nodded. “Joe, I’m sorry about the way I acted last night. I jumped to the wrong conclusion. It was a stupid thing to do. It was just . . . I . . . preconceived ideas . . . stupid . . . uncalled for.”

  He was smiling at her.

  “What?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to stumble for words.”

  “Especially last night, you mean.”

  “Well, appearances did lean toward your analysis. It just happened to be wrong.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. Truly. That’s all.” She turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped.

  “You didn’t give me my turn.”

  She turned resolutely around. She should have known she wouldn’t get off this easy.

  “I’m sorry I lashed out at you. I just got so angry that you would think— Well, I take those words back. If I can.”

  “No need. I know I’m an uptight bitch. Well, not a bitch most of the time. But I like to be in control.”

  “You always did.”

  “Because there was so much that I couldn’t.”

  “I know. I always admired that about you.”

  There was a pause in the conversation, a perfect time for Van to turn around and leave. But she didn’t. “Dorie says you’ve planted a vineyard.”

  “Hence all the wine bottles. They’re local wines that I’ve been studying.”

  “Why wine?”

  He shrugged.

  Standing face-to-face, Van finally took the time to look at Joe. In spite of his bruises from the previous night, she could tell that he’d matured well, filled out but not too much. He was trim and fit and still had his hair as far as she could tell. Close shaved. Even with all that dark hair, he’d never had much of a beard when they were young. And he’d grown into the determined jawline and the sun-crinkled eyes of the older Enthorpes.

  “I needed something that could compete with other farms when I only had twenty acres to play with.”

  “Is that enough to compete?”

  “Well, I decided to go organic. That was the best chance we had of turning enough profit to, you know, to live comfortably. Plus, I like the idea of organic. Get the real flavor of the wine, not just the additives.

  “I should be able to hold my own if the vines are productive and barring any disasters.

  “Sorry, your eyes are probably glazing over. It’s something that I don’t get to enthuse about too much. The guys at Mike’s aren’t exactly connoisseurs.”

  “I think it sounds fascinating. Really. I was just wondering . . . how you went from dairy farming to vintnering. Is that what it’s called?”

  “Viniculture. Growing grapes for wine. When Dad and Granddad sold the dairy farm, I looked around for some way to make the land productive. Actually, first I got really angry. I’d just spent three years learning how to streamline the dairy. Then it was gone.”

  “Oh, Joe, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, I was pretty pissed, there were a few scenes, then I packed up and left home.”

  “You? Left home?”

  “Well, I packed up and went back to school. Where I began studying viniculture. I’d already taken some courses. It’s kind of fascinating.”

  “So you learned how to grow grapes and came home and planted them?”

  “Granddad and Dad thought I was crazy. There were a few rough years. So I went to work at a New York State vineyard. Learned the ropes. Spent a year and a half in California, same thing. I even went to France and Italy.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I know; crazy, right? Joe Enthorpe in Europe.”

  “Not crazy. Did you learn the language?”

  “Sure I did.” He smiled. “Tres bien and arrivederci.”

  She punched his arm.

  “Well, I did learn a bit more than that. By the time I came home, they were willing to listen. I think my mother had something to do with it.”

  Van smiled. Mrs. Enthorpe was quiet and never even raised her voice, but she ruled the roost in that household.

  “That’s so great, Joe. When I heard you’d sold the farm, I was afraid—”

  “That I had gone to work at the marina, became a drunk, and started fights in bars.”

  She blushed.

  “It’s okay. If I had been more coherent last night, I could have explained. You want to see the vineyards? I have photos on my computer upstairs.”

  “I’d love to.” Awkwardness and disappointment had morphed into a kind of comfortable familiarity.

  They went up the steps and Joe opened the door for her.

  “Sorry about the mess. All my stuff is living on top of Grandy’s stuff.”

  The room was definitely crowded. Last night Van had only been aware of Joe and all the wine bottles. In the daylight without the drama, the room appeared just as it had years ago. The counter. The shelves of fishing gear and emergency angler and boating supplies. A case of new and used rods and reels. A wall mount of fishing nets, bags of lures, hooks, coils of nylon rope, plastic containers of wax, oil, and sealant, and a display of candies and chips that looked like they might have been the same ones from years ago.

  To that Joe had added a desk and chair that abutted the glass window, a bookshelf filled with books. An easy chair had been shoved into a far corner. He must sleep in the tiny office whose door Van could see over the counter.

  Joe led her over to the desk where his laptop wa
s set up. “Have a seat.”

  He closed the book he must have been reading, tossed it to the side, then turned the desk chair toward her. She sat down. Joe dragged a plastic molded chair over and sat beside her, rummaged through some papers on the desk, and found a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

  She looked over to him and smiled. “You wear glasses?”

  Joe held them up and looked at them as if this was a surprise to him, too. “For a few years, for reading.” He put them on.

  He reached across her and opened a file. The screen was filled with rows of lush green grapevines.

  “Is that your land?”

  “Yep. Renzo, that’s my foreman, just sent these photos over a few days ago. This is our third year, so the vines are producing their first real crop.”

  He clicked through a few photos. “Here’s what they looked like when we first planted them.”

  Van leaned closer to study what appeared to be little sticks rising up from the plowed earth.

  “And this is the next spring.” He brought up more photos.

  Straight rows of wire trellises supported by evenly spaced metal posts. The area between the rows neatly mowed. And the fledgling vines, trained to grow up and along the wires.

  “They’ve really grown,” she said enthusiastically. Then shrugged. “At least it seems that way to me.”

  “They’re doing well. Knock wood.” Joe knocked on the desk, and so did Van. This gained her a smile from Joe. They looked at each other until Joe pulled away. “And here’s last fall.”

  Another photo at another angle, some close-ups, then one with a young man and woman with a little girl.

  “Is that Maddy?” Van asked.

  “Yeah. They were back visiting for Thanksgiving.”

  “They? Is that her family?”

  “Yeah. She and her husband and little girl, Josephine—we call her Josie. Three Joes and a Josie all in the same house for the holidays is little confusing, but hey. They live in Ohio. They’re expecting another kid pretty soon now.”

  Van smiled, but she suddenly felt very sad. And that was something new for her. She’d long ago accepted that she would never be a mother, nor a part of this boisterous family.

  “Are you doing this by yourself or did your dad finally come around?”

  “Drew and Brett decided to invest. We made a chunk of change on the land we sold. And a big chunk of it was divided up among the kids.

  “Dad retired, but the Enthorpes have never been a family to sit back and do nothing. He was alternating between watching television and walking out to look at the condos where the pastures used to be. Granddad was cranky and . . . well, they were driving Mom crazy. Since they’ve gotten involved they still make fun and complain, but they’re happy as two clams.”

  He changed the photo again. An aerial shot of the acreage planted in grapevines.

  Van could see the stream where they sometimes fished and swam and that edged the planted land. She remembered the fun they’d had. And eating early dinner with the family, a loud raucous crowd, who had opened their home to her. As Joe spoke she could see them all as if she were back there again. And she realized that those dinners and afternoons had been the bright spots in her life and she’d forgotten them in the overpowering memory of unhappiness.

  “Thanks.”

  Joe frowned at her. “For showing you photos of our vineyard?”

  “Yeah.” And your enthusiasm, your family and your love for them, and for being an anchor for me when I didn’t even appreciate it. Didn’t even know I should appreciate it.

  “If you’d like to see it, I mean up close and personal, I’d love to take you out there. I’m sure everyone else would love to see you. Dad was just asking about you the other day.”

  “Thanks. I’d like to see it, but I— I’m only here for another ten days and I promised Dorie I would help streamline the Crab. It hasn’t come into the twenty-first century. She’s trying to do it all herself, and she’s got overlap, and inefficiency, and well . . . It could take me some time.”

  “Is that why you’re back? To help Dorie?”

  “No. I was on my way to— I’m on vacation. I stopped to attend Clay Daly’s funeral and the rest as they say is history.”

  “Dorie suckered you into staying?”

  “Pretty much. I didn’t see you at the funeral.”

  “I couldn’t make it.” He clicked out of the file; the screen went dark.

  Van wondered about the abrupt change in mood.

  “You do restaurants, too?”

  “Too?”

  Joe shrugged. “I’ve seen your website.”

  “Yeah. I own and operate a sort of glorified cleaning, housekeeping, scheduling service. You know, for busy Manhattan families that don’t have time to do it all, and aren’t organized enough to do what they do efficiently.”

  “Basically you fix people’s lives.”

  “You mean since I didn’t do such a great job with my own?”

  He lifted her right out of the chair, held her arms, and looked directly into her eyes. “You did a great job with what you had. I always admired that. If you— I understand that you had to get away, but I’m sorry if I was the thing that drove you to it. I’m still not sure what I did, but if it was me, I’m truly sorry.”

  “Joe, it was just circumstances. Better left in the past where it belongs.”

  “So you aren’t going to tell me?”

  “Joe, I don’t—” What could she say? She didn’t remember? That was a blatant lie. And he would see through it; he’d always seen through her. That had been what she loved most about him; he saw through her and still liked—loved—what he saw.

  She shook her head, suddenly having trouble trying to talk. She took a breath. “It’s all good. And I’m so glad things are working out with the vineyard. But I have to get back.”

  They both seemed to realize that he was still holding her in place. He let go, she stepped back.

  “So you’re staying at Dorie’s.”

  “Isn’t that a kick?”

  “Suze, too?”

  Van nodded. Reluctantly smiled. “And Dana, too, though please don’t tell Bud.”

  “How do you think I got these bruises?”

  “Not a drunken brawl.”

  “Well, I can’t speak for Bud and the other bozos that joined in, but last night I was wearing all those beers, not drinking them.”

  “I just—”

  Joe put his fingers over her mouth. “Jumped to the wrong conclusion. I know. It’s okay, as long as the next time you jump, give me the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Deal.”

  “So it’s like a weeklong slumber party over there, huh?”

  She gave him a look that made him laugh.

  “That is so you. I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.”

  “Unlike the rest of me?”

  “The rest of you seems fine, too. I just wasn’t at my best last night.”

  “Neither was I.” Van walked to the door.

  He opened it for her. “So if you finish up with the Crab and change your mind about going out to the farm, or if you just want to have coffee or something, give me a ring.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” She stood there for a second, indecisive. Did she just walk away? Shake hands? Give him a quick hug?

  He walked down the steps ahead of her, and she followed him. He opened her car door and she climbed in, smiled at him before he closed the door.

  And she drove away.

  Chapter 16

  IS THAT YOUR GIRLFRIEND, JOE?” OWEN GOT UP FROM WHERE he was sitting on an empty boat trailer, reading a comic.

  “She used to be.”

  “She’s really pretty.”

  “Yeah, she is.”

  “How come she’s not your girlfriend now?”

  “I’m not really sure,” Joe said.

  “Man, that’s stupid. I think you oughta get her back.”

  “Thanks for the advice, man. You finish untangling t
hose dock lines?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then what do you say to some lunch?”

  Since Joe didn’t keep food in the marina office, they drove into town to a local place known for its homemade pasta and thin crust pizza. Ordered enough food for three grown men.

  Owen dug in with enthusiasm.

  Joe thought about Van.

  He’d left it in her court, whether they would see each other again or not. Maybe not the smartest move he ever made. But he wasn’t totally sure he wanted to see her again.

  No, that was a total lie. If the glimpse of Van he’d had today was the real Van, then he absolutely wanted to see her again.

  But if this was just her on good behavior because Dorie had made her come apologize, something he wouldn’t put past their old friend, then he should let it go.

  He didn’t want to open up only to be shut down again. He sure didn’t want to go through that kind of heartbreak again, and he doubted she did either.

  So he’d wait and see. He had plenty to do, maybe too much, to embark on reawakening their relationship. As intriguing as the idea was, his work came first.

  Next week he’d shut down Grandy’s for all but the regulars who could fend for themselves. Grandy would be home from the hospital by then, and though he wouldn’t be able to run the marina, he’d be able to oversee the daily operations. Maybe he could get Owen to come after school to help.

  The kid was a good worker and needed the money. From the little Owen had said, Joe knew he lived with his mother and two younger sisters. And that he’d started going out with the clam diggers to help stretch the limited food budget.

  Labor intensive, illegal, and too late for a kid to be staying up if he planned on getting to school the next day. He could be a big help to Grandy.

  Joe would move back to the farm, concentrate on the vineyards, get the grapes harvested. Start the fermentation process. Then he’d start planning for the next leg. Tasting room and possibly a store. He’d have to run the numbers. And of course it was dependent on the success of the crop.

  He wondered if Van could help him with the setup of the winery. Then he dismissed the idea. She had her work in Manhattan, which she was probably anxious to get back to. He doubted she would be interested in a little winery and vineyard.