by Jenny Hale
“I had to do something to fight the boredom,” Butch replied.
“I had no idea,” Jack said, running his hand along one of the benches. “It’s quite a departure from cutting firewood.” He turned to his father. “When did you start doing this?”
“Shortly after I retired.” Butch sat down, noticeably worn out from standing. “Remember when I whittled that truck for you?”
“Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten about that. I used to take it outside and make ramps for it. I haven’t seen it in ages.”
“Well, I have it.” His head dropped and he seemed to be gazing at the forest floor when he looked up suddenly. “Forgive me for getting personal, Miss Alice, but I don’t mind if you hear this.” He cleared his throat, his attention on his son. He took in a deep breath and let it out. “I found that truck and I realized that I made it for you, Jack, but I never got to see you play with it. Not once did I see you play with it. I was too busy running around trying to make us money. This all started when I was sitting by myself one day thinking about that. I thought, ‘I’d like to make young Jack another toy. Too bad he isn’t young anymore to enjoy it.’ But I made one anyway, one for every time I thought about how I’d missed that.”
Alice felt the prick of tears in her eyes and, at the same time, she felt like an outsider, eavesdropping on a very personal moment between Jack and his father. She took a step back and viewed more of the beautiful birds Butch had made to give herself a minute.
“I don’t fault you for working,” Jack said. “You had to do what you had to do to support us.”
“I enjoyed the travel, the nonstop movement of it. I liked meeting people and the rush of great sales as a result of my work. But now that I’m an old man, that’s all gone, and, by the grace of God, and your mother’s hard work, you’ve become a man I’m proud of—but I hold deep guilt that your success was nothing to do with me. I wasn’t around to help build you into the man you are. I wish I had been.”
While this was a very delicate conversation, Alice was glad to hear it. She found it incredibly moving and a testament to who both these men were. Gramps used to tell her that there’s a certain grace in how we deal with things that tells others about the kind of person we are. That grace was present here.
“Sorry. I’ve gotten sentimental in my old age,” Butch said, now standing beside her and placing his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe we can find something wonderful to do with these birds one day.”
Alice looked over at Jack, a quiet smile reaching his eyes. She thought again about how Melly and the other nurses had it all wrong, but she was too afraid to let herself believe it.
Butch walked over and clapped Jack on the back. “Come on up to the house. Let’s have some coffee.”
Chapter Eleven
“I can’t wait to show you this property,” Jack said, as he turned a curve leading them back toward the coast. “Dad doesn’t know I’m buying it for him. It’s a surprise. I’m going to completely renovate the building.” He beamed at Alice. “Well, once I put in an offer.”
Her knowledge of the summer market gave her pause at his statement. The time for selling was nearing its high and it would be a seller’s market for the next few months. “If you’ve decided to buy it, why haven’t you put a contract on it yet? I’d be worried it would sell to someone else and I wouldn’t get it.”
He raised his eyebrows, seemingly sure of himself. “I’m not too worried. I’d just outbid the offer. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to get it. And I did tell the agent that I’d be in touch. I’d planned to call her after shopping the other day, but a certain someone lost her handbag.” He winked at her.
“If I don’t get a move on, though, Dad’s going to hurt himself trying to keep that house of his from falling apart. It’s only a rental, but you can’t tell him that. It was a good house for many years, but it got to be too much upkeep for him, so I sold it, and we’re just renting until I can get him somewhere else to live.”
Over coffee, Butch had mentioned how the roof was leaking and Jack had warned him not to get up on the ladder to try to fix it, although Butch had clearly done it a few times to hang all of his wooden birds.
“I used to visit this area all the time as a kid. We lived about a block away from the beach during my younger years, and I would walk to the shore every single day, even after school once the summer was over. I have so many memories here.”
Alice took in Jack’s profile, the creases around his eyes visible through the side of his sunglasses as he looked at the road while gripping the wheel at the bottom with one hand. The windows were down, blowing Alice’s hair. She propped her elbow up on the car door to hold the runaway strands out of her face, relishing the familiar straw feeling of her hair as it was coated with the salty air.
She couldn’t wait to see what Jack had planned for his father. It was such an enormous and thoughtful gift that she wanted to hear every single detail. Completely relaxed, she allowed herself to imagine more days with Jack, sitting by an open window as the sun streamed in, while he showed her floor samples or paint colors. They could have working lunches: she planning the latest order for ice cream at Seaside Sprinkles, while he chattered away on his phone to the architect with a hundred ideas for what would make Butch the perfect home.
The ocean was outside her window now, that familiar stretch of beach just over the dune. They were nearing Gramps’s old shop, and she got a punch of excitement, thinking that perhaps the property was close to hers. Certainly, a remodel could take all summer and that would mean she’d have all those glorious months to see Jack.
And how wonderful it would be if she were lucky enough to see the look on Butch’s face when Jack revealed his new home. She imagined a long front porch with a few of his birds hanging from its ceiling, rocking chairs underneath, all of them sitting together.
But she also reminded herself that this was only fleeting. Jack was going back to Chicago. Why had he moved away in the first place and left his father here all alone when it was so clear that Butch felt like he’d lost time with his son? Jack knew how he felt—she’d seen Butch tell him with her own eyes—but he hadn’t said a thing about staying. Did he care at all how his father felt? When he’d finished whatever this favor was for his doctor friend, he was leaving, and that fact was screaming at her loud and clear. But she pushed it out of her mind, wondering if she was overthinking things and perhaps she should just live in the moment and think about all the wonderful things they could do this summer.
Jack slowed down outside the shop, and she wondered how he knew where she lived. Was he planning to pick up Henry first so they could go straight to fishing after? Were they going to fish from the same pier she’d fished from with Gramps? He leaned over her to look out her side of the window as she searched his face for answers.
“I wonder who that is,” Jack said.
She stared in the direction of his gaze, and he was looking directly at Sasha’s car. Alice’s was parked on the side of the house, so he hadn’t seen it yet.
“This is the property.” Jack pulled in next to Sasha’s vehicle and turned off the engine. “But it looks like someone’s occupying it. It couldn’t have sold that quickly; the closing procedures alone would take at least ninety days.”
Her skin prickled with unease. Alice couldn’t speak, all those hopeful thoughts about the summer becoming a muddle in her mind as confusion set in.
Jack misread her bewilderment and offered her that gorgeous smile of his. “I’m sure it will be fine. Maybe the agent’s here to check on the property. I’ll find out what’s going on.” He shut off the engine and, as he opened the door to get out, she caught his arm.
But before she could say anything, Henry burst from the door and ran over to them with bare feet, stopping right in front of Jack. Henry’s hair was wet, beads of water still lingering around his shoulders. He must have been waiting for them on the beach.
“Hi!” he said, noticeably delighted to see Jack. “Are you here
to go fishing? I’ve been waiting!”
Jack’s eyes were on her son, obviously processing the situation. But then, he cleared whatever had filled his mind and grinned at Henry. “Hey, buddy! You’re ready to go fishing? I’ve got everything in the truck. Go grab yourself a shirt and some shoes and we’ll head up to the pier.”
Henry ran back inside as Sasha peeked out the door, waving at them.
Jack waved back, and with his face still turned toward Sasha, he said, “This building is yours?” His eyes were unstill, his words coming out hushed. He ran his hand through his hair.
“Yes,” she said, after Sasha had gone back inside. “This is going to be my ice cream shop.” Alice felt terrible suddenly, thinking of how Butch wouldn’t get to have that beautiful cottage she’d conjured up in her mind.
“But it couldn’t have sold that quickly,” Jack said matter-of-factly, his gaze darting over to her before he looked back at the property, his hands in his pockets. While he was keeping a straight face for the sake of conversation, his disappointment was evident.
“I was going to sell it, but then I decided to open the ice cream shop, so I took it off the market.”
His brows furrowed with this news, his mouth set in a contemplative frown. A car drove by, its tires grinding the sand on the street as the sun beat down, both of them standing in silence.
“Ready!” Henry said, running out the door and greeting them.
“All right.” Jack put on that million-dollar smile and reached into the back of the truck, pulling out three fishing rods and his tackle box. “We’re close enough to the pier that we can walk right over. How lucky is that?” he said, all the words coming out on an exhale, as if he were still trying to get his disappointment in check. He handed the smallest rod to Henry.
When they got to the pier, Alice found it surprisingly empty. Usually it was swarming with visitors who were there to see the floor-to-ceiling fish tanks and to buy souvenirs from the gift shops before they walked the length of the colossal landing, stopping to peer through the complimentary binoculars and sit in the rocking chairs that lined the center. There was normally a huge sale going on at the gift shop—everything 50 percent off—but today, it was closed.
Jack bought the tickets for their entry, and Alice reminded herself that she’d have to pay him back. She wanted to do something nice for him anyway—it was such a shame that he wouldn’t be building Butch his home on that stretch of beach now. Jack was quiet, and, even though she hadn’t known him very long, she could tell his mind was still whirring—it showed right on his face.
Henry ran ahead, stopping at the edge to view a flock of seagulls that had dipped down into the surf.
“I’m sorry about your dad’s house,” Alice said quietly. “There’s got to be something else available.”
Jack blinked over and over, looking down at the pier as if he were looking for something before meeting her eyes. “You own that building?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard the answer before. He was visibly baffled. He looked out to the ocean, that mind of his still going. Then he shook his head, his brows coming together in concern before he forced a smile. “It will all work out,” Jack said. “Let’s talk about it later.” He walked up beside Henry. “Ready to catch some fish?”
Chapter Twelve
Jack hadn’t spoken any more about the property, focusing mostly on Henry and helping him catch fish. They’d thrown back everything they’d caught so far, which was eleven fish, the last one nearly breaking the line it had been so big.
“So you fish with your grandfather?” Jack asked, leaning over him to keep his line from getting tangled under the pier. The sky was an electric blue, making them both squint as they talked to each other.
“Uh huh,” Henry said, without taking his eyes off the line as he waited intently for a bite. “Grandpa Frank and I fish in a pond, though. I’ve never fished from a pier before.”
Jack smiled. “When I was your age, my dad was always gone, and I’d walk to this pier sometimes because there was someone who would fish with me here. The man who owned that old bike shop where you all live would fish here too. I got my line tangled once, and he helped me. After that, I started to watch what he was doing and he began to tell me as he did it. Before long, we were friends.”
Alice, who had sat down on the nearby bench to soak in the sun and watch the two of them, straightened up.
“I used to love to fish with him,” Jack said.
Henry finally took his eyes off the line. “That’s my great-grandpa.”
Alice watched the way Jack’s back tensed as he heard this, the tilt of his head as the information sank in, and the slow revelation of what she, too, was realizing at that moment. He turned around, his expression questioning, as he looked at her.
She stood up and took a step in front of Jack, the wind pressing against her. “I used to fish with him too.”
Jack.
Both of them stared as if they’d only just now actually seen one another, and she wondered if Jack was remembering what she was: that one day when Gramps had introduced her to a boy on the pier and they’d sat together, pushing their feet through the railings, the salty spray grazing their toes every so often as they shared stories about school, those green eyes of his making her feel like she was a princess. Gramps had bought them both an ice cream cone, and if she closed her eyes, Alice could still remember her sticky fingers and the heat in her cheeks at the boy’s crooked smile when he looked at her. They’d been about fifteen.
“Strawberry ice cream,” he said, a smile playing on his lips.
She nodded.
“I thought you were the most beautiful girl on the beach that summer,” he whispered.
The flutter in her stomach was starting to be a normal sensation these days. “How come you didn’t come back? I visited after that.”
“That was the summer before I moved inland to the home that Dad has now. It was too far to walk, and I didn’t get a car until after college when I moved to Chicago.” He baited his hook and tossed his line out a little way from Henry, who was still waiting for a bite. “Your grandfather was a good man,” he said to her over his shoulder.
“Yes, he was.”
As Jack’s comment settled in her mind, she remembered Gramps saying that one day, when she met a man, he hoped it would be someone like Jack. She’d laughed it off, too consumed by young flirtations to take his words to heart.
“You got one!” Jack said, steadying his fishing pole with one hand while he reached around Henry to hold his rod as it bent down toward the sea, Henry’s little hands madly reeling. “It’s a big one!” Jack gripped the rod, holding it steady, the end of it looking as though it might break in half. Henry’s hands were barely able to maneuver the reel.
Alice got up and took Jack’s rod so he could help her son. Together, they worked to get the fish into the air. Jack’s arms were around Henry, the two of them pulling and winding the reel together, and to anyone else they looked like a little family, like some sort of cosmic fast forward from that day when Alice was fifteen. She shook her head to clear the idea of it, just as Jack and Henry brought up an enormous fish.
“It’s a red drum!” Jack said, grinning. He held it by its mouth and unhooked it. “Want to hold it for a photo before we throw it back?”
Henry put his hands out and Jack set the giant thing in his arms. Then he pulled out his phone and took a photo. “Okay, throw it back!”
Henry tossed the fish and it disappeared in the surf.
Then, with her mind still on Jack and Gramps, the line Alice was holding yanked and pulled her forward. Before she could respond, Jack’s arms were circling her like they had Henry, reeling, his fingers on top of hers, the spicy smell of his neck at her face, making her dizzy.
“It’s a good day for fishing,” he said into her ear, causing the hair to stand up on the right side of her body. “Look! Your mom just caught a speckled trout!” He let go of her to take the fish off the line. “Want to tak
e a picture with it?” he asked.
“That’s okay,” she said, not particularly wanting to hold a slimy, wet fish. She’d done it without flinching as a girl, but then she hadn’t had on her best DKNY tank top that she’d found on sale and would never encounter at that price again.
“Come on,” he said, beaming as he held it out by its mouth, its tail flailing around, flapping back and forth. Jack was obviously ignoring her don’t-you-dare look.
He wiggled it nearer to her. She darted backwards, trying not to squeal and make a scene. Gramps would have rolled his eyes at her right now, that grin he got when she was being silly on his face.
“You sure?” Jack poked the thing in her direction again, making her jump and nearly bump into an elderly woman as she made her way to the binoculars. Alice apologized, but the woman didn’t seem overly placated.
“I know!” Henry piped up. “You hold it, Jack, and you can stand with Mom, and I can take the picture.”
Still holding the fish in one hand, Jack pulled his phone from his back pocket again, hit the passcode with his thumb, and tossed it to Henry. “Great idea!” he said, putting his arm around Alice, startling her.
Then, just as Henry called out, “Say cheese!” Jack put the fish up to her cheek as if it were giving her a kiss, making her yelp.
Henry doubled over in laughter as he viewed the photo on the phone.
“Not funny,” she said in mock seriousness.
“Sorry.” He screwed his lips up, trying not to smile. Then, after he tossed the fish into the water, he leaned over toward her and said, “In the next photo, I’ll kiss your cheek instead.”
“Next photo?”
He certainly seemed to think they were going to be together again. First he’d said she could have the next bet and now he was planning to kiss her…
