What was hardest for Hank was the unpredictability of his return. Of course they could look him up. With the advent of the Internet and social media, the world shrank to a mere neighborhood, and it didn’t usually take more than a few strokes of a keyboard to find out about someone. Hank knew; a few times, in his newspaper days, he’d used his contacts to do just that. But to his surprise, it had been tricky to track down Caleb Bailey. He wasn’t regularly employed, and he had stopped having gallery showings altogether. His work, when evidence of it showed up, seemed infrequent. Eventually, Hank made a few calls to an old friend at the Globe. Within two weeks he received a manila envelope in the mail. Caleb Bailey was living in Arizona. He made some calls to local businesses who were likely to know the man’s whereabouts: a few art galleries, the local library, a framing and printing business outside of town. Whether people were not inclined to speak openly to a stranger with a Boston accent or honestly did not know who or where Caleb Bailey was, Hank couldn’t say. The one account with any reliable information was the business Hank took a stab at: the owner of the Whistle Creek Tavern, one of two pubs in town. Loud music crackled in the background. Hank had to press the receiver to his ear to hear the man. “Caleb? Yeah, I know Caleb. But he ain’t here now. Who wants to know?”
“An old friend,” Hank lied. “Just trying to reach him.”
“Well come on down, he’s here most nights.”
Hank had felt guilty looking him up without telling Lindy first. But he hadn’t been sure he could find him to begin with, so he argued with himself that he’d wait until he had something to share. When he did finally, Lindy wanted no part of it. “I’m the one who asked him to leave,” she reminded him. “I told him that he was not to come back into the girls’ lives until he’d gotten help. That never happened.”
“So we should keep this from the girls?” After all, it may not have been his place, but Hank still didn’t like the fact that the children didn’t know the whereabouts of their own father.
In the end, Lindy had told them. That very day, they sat down in the living room together. Each girl had responded differently. Shannon shrugged. “Why should we care?” But Hank saw the flicker in her eye that suggested otherwise. Wren had listened quietly, before asking, “Was it Dad who looked for us or did you look for him?” Lindy had glanced at Hank. “It was me,” he admitted, softly. “I have a friend who finds people. It’s his job.”
“So Dad isn’t the one who sent the letter.”
“No,” Hank said. “The letter was from my friend to me.” He felt like he owed her an apology at that moment. He shouldn’t have meddled.
Piper took her cues from her sisters, but was more concrete. “So is he coming?”
All eyes landed on Hank at that point, and it was more than he could bear. “No, honey. We just know where he lives.”
“Are we going to visit him?”
“No,” Lindy said, scooping her up. “When you get older, if you want to visit him someday, you can, honey. But we live here, in Chatham, and this is our family. And we have so much love.” She looked around at her girls’ faces. “You know that, right?”
It was an unhappy discussion, and Hank was immediately ashamed and angry at himself for having even introduced their father’s whereabouts back into the girls’ lives, if only for a conversation. “You did it with good intentions,” Lindy told him, later that night. “And you’re right. Caleb is out there somewhere, and if the girls decide to look him up, someday, I’m going to have to deal with that. I guess it’s good to remind them that they can if they want.”
If the man himself did not return, his work occasionally haunted them. One winter afternoon the whole family had gone to the dentist for cleanings. Piper grew tired of the worn coloring books in the children’s corner of the waiting room and so she imitated her older sisters and began flipping through magazines.
“Mommy look!” she’d cried and run to show Lindy a full-page spread of a zebra racing through the Serengeti. Lindy, engrossed in a novel, had glanced at it briefly. Piper had moved on to show Wren, who let out a gasp and shoved the magazine back under her mother’s nose.
“Mom.”
Hank had just finished his turn in the dentist’s chair and stood in the doorway of the waiting room as all three girls surrounded their mother. “What is it?” he’d asked.
Lindy held up the copy of National Geographic for him to see.
“Nice zebra,” he’d said.
“It’s Caleb’s,” Lindy said.
The magazine had come home with them, tucked tightly under Piper’s arm. From then on it hung over her bed. No one said a darn thing about the thumbtacks securing the photo to the good wallpaper.
There were other incidents that showed Caleb was indeed out there, somewhere. Sometimes a photo credit was given in a catalog. Once, he shot the cover of Time. Back then, Hank wondered if he’d ever get over the feeling that he had stepped inadvertently into someone else’s shoes, like an imposter. Most of all, Hank worried he might come back someday and want all those things back.
But as the years passed and life normalized, the fears he’d harbored began to fade. Lindy was the biggest reason. The way she’d suddenly stop what she was doing in an ordinary moment and take his face in her hands, urgently. “Do you know how much I love you?” she’d ask, her voice a whisper.
And there were the girls, who tiptoed politely about him only for so long. Who later stormed past him, so comfortable were they around him by that point, that there was never hesitation to slam a door or throw him a baleful look. He received the full treatment as a parent, and that was just as welcome to him as was the slipping of a small hand in his own when crossing the street or the coming to wake him in the middle of the night after a bad dream. They needed him. And they’d grow to love him and be embarrassed by him and loathe him at any given moment, just as any child of his own would. By then Hank no longer felt that he was wearing another man’s shoes. These were his now. And he would fight to the death before he stepped out of them.
Now, however, the old fear prickled him like one of those hair-thin slivers in your fingertip. The kind you cannot see and don’t even realize is there, until you bump it just the right way. That’s how Hank felt about Caleb’s return. And he wished Lindy would stop fussing about the dog and take notice. He didn’t care if that made him sound like a big baby, he wanted her to fuss over him for a change.
When the vet tech led Bowser out from the back, even Hank had to admit the poor dog looked pathetic. His big head was ensconced in an even bigger cone, his tail between his legs as he slunk out into the waiting room.
The look on the dog’s face was pretty much how Hank felt. “Here comes my sixty-fifth birthday trip!” he said.
Lindy was on her knees. “My big brave little man,” she said, stroking his face.
Bowser’s left flank was shaved, and a dark arc of sutures ran down it. Hank flinched. He’d never been good with that kind of stuff.
Lindy stood and squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll be the one to take care of it.”
Getting the dog in the car was a whole other story. Hank had made sure to drive the “dog car,” and they’d laid blankets across the backseat. Two vet techs escorted them out and demonstrated how to lift him gently by twisting a thick towel under Bowser’s belly. Bowser didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t complain. “There you go, buddy.” Hank closed the back door and winked at his wife. “Better get him home and settled. Isn’t Wren picking up her father about now?”
Lindy slid her sunglasses on. “Indeed. Seems there’s no shortage of needy males today.”
He was about to get in the car when one of the receptionists ran outside waving. “Mr. McWilliams! You almost forgot your receipt.”
Hank folded it and slid it in his coat pocket. “Couldn’t forget it if I tried.”
She smiled. “It’s really wonderful what you and your wife did for Bowser. Not everyone would spend that kind of money. They might just put th
eir dog down.” Just before she went back inside she spun around. “Oh, and I heard you mention it in the office—happy birthday, sir!”
Seventeen
Piper
Damn Derek. Her father was on his way home now. And she wasn’t there.
She passed a Massachusetts state trooper along Interstate 90, and pumped the brakes. She couldn’t afford a ticket. She couldn’t afford anything. When she’d gotten back from the awful fallout at the coffee shop the afternoon before, she’d been planning on hopping in the car and heading straight to Chatham before her father arrived. But when she got to her apartment, Claire was waiting for her cross-legged on the couch. There were two shot glasses and a bottle of Fireball on the coffee table. Claire looked pained. “Sit down.”
All Piper could do was drop her bag on the floor. “Well, fuck. Why not?”
“You know I love you, right?” Claire ran a hand through her sensible short hair and let out a long breath. “Which is why I’m going to say this. You have to move out.”
Piper was not surprised. She had it coming. “I know. I’m sorry I’ve gotten so behind on rent and bills. I’ll find a way to pay you back, I promise.”
Claire studied her. “What’s going on? You’re one of the smartest people I know. But it’s like you aren’t even trying to get a teaching job.”
“I was thinking that if I took a few more classes in business, then maybe I could find a way to use my education degree to consult . . .”
Claire flopped back against the cushions in exasperation. “More classes? Piper. You don’t want a degree in business any more than you wanted one in education.”
Piper covered her face with her hands. “I think I need to go home.” She’d failed. Failed to find a job. Failed to get her shit together. She and Derek were clearly done. “I need to figure things out.”
Claire handed her a shot glass. “I’ll toast to that.”
They sat like that on the couch for the rest of the night, passing the Fireball bottle back and forth between them, reminiscing. Then it was the tissue box. Later they ordered Thai food and stood in Piper’s tiny room packing up her things until they could barely keep their eyes open. “I’m going to miss you,” Piper said, stuffing the last of her sweaters into a duffel bag.
Claire sat on the edge of the bed and smiled sadly. “Yeah. You really suck.”
That’s how she found herself climbing into her Prius a hangover and a day late in going home. But really, what difference did a day make? Now she was going home for good.
Wren had left her two messages, neither of which she’d been able to bring herself to listen to. They’d be wondering where the hell she was. By the time she approached the rotary on Main Street, it was past one o’clock, and Piper wasn’t sure whose house to go to first.
Shannon picked up on the first ring, sounding indignant. “Where are you?”
Piper directed her car straight up Main. Decision made: she’d go to her mother’s. “I’m in town. Where are you?”
“Where I’m supposed be. At home.”
“You’re not with Dad?”
“No.” That was it. No explanation. “I thought you were coming home last night?”
“Change of plans. So, where is he?”
“Wren picked him up a little while ago. I thought you were planning to be here to see him.”
“Says the sister who is in town but chooses not to?”
“Come on, Piper.”
She didn’t need this. What she needed was to concentrate. The sidewalks were bottlenecked as she approached the middle of the village by the Wayside Inn. She stopped to let a throng of people cross the street, half listening to Shannon go on about what a bad idea this was for all of them. She was just about to proceed when, without warning, one of those pastel preppy-collared families stepped out on the pedestrian walk. Piper hit the brakes. “Jesus.” Then, “Not you. Tourists. Listen, I have to go.”
There was a pause. “I saw him.”
“God, Shannon. Why didn’t you start with that? How is he?”
“I didn’t talk to him. I saw Wrenny pick him up at the bus stop. We took separate cars.”
So, she hadn’t been able to stay away. “And?”
Piper had to press the phone tight against her ear to hear Shannon. “From what I could see, he’s pretty much the same. Older, thinner. But definitely him.”
This was where her sisters always forgot: Piper didn’t have the same benchmarks they did. Their memories, both visual and actual, stretched miles beyond her own. She’d barely been four when he left. All she had to go on over the years were photographs and family stories. “How’d it feel to see him?”
Here, any indication of sentiment evaporated. Shannon cleared her throat. “I didn’t really feel anything.”
Piper sighed. “I’m heading to Mom’s. I’ll call later, okay?”
“Okay. By the way, how long are you in town for?”
Piper didn’t want to tell Shannon that she was home indefinitely. She hadn’t even told their mother yet. Her thoughts flashed back to Derek, whom she had gotten only one text from since leaving the coffee shop. I’m sorry. It was clear to her that he wasn’t going to chase her down or ask her to come back. Which only stung harder. In another week he’d be coming to Chatham, and even though he’d be staying in town, he’d be further away than ever.
Piper pushed the thought from her mind. It was time to focus. Their father was back in town and back in their lives, and that thought filled her with a rush of hope as blinding as the sun outside. “I’m here as long as you need me,” she told Shannon.
• • •
Both cars were in the driveway when Piper pulled up. The muffler on her Prius had to have announced her arrival, but no one came to the door. Not even Bowser.
“Hello?” Piper called. She pulled her duffel bag and purse from the backseat, then thought better of it. Best to tell them first, before dragging all her crap up the porch steps and dumping it at the front door.
Lindy appeared at the screen door. “Honey! I was wondering where you were.” She hurried out and hugged Piper tightly, then held her firmly at arm’s length studying her expression. “Have you seen him?”
“Not yet.”
“Come in then and see Bowser. Hank’s holding on to him so he won’t try to hobble out here and overexert himself. We just picked him up from the vet.”
Piper followed her mother inside. “I totally forgot he was having his operation.” She stepped over a dog bed and found Bowser and Hank in the kitchen. Toys and bones were everywhere.
“Welcome to the rehab center,” Hank said.
Piper gave Hank a quick hug and knelt by Bowser. “Poor thing.” He was wearing one of those pathetic cones and every time he moved his head it clunked against her knees.
“Don’t get him excited,” Lindy warned. She was stirring a big pot of something on the stove that smelled intoxicating. “Lunch?” Piper asked hopefully.
“For Bowser,” Lindy explained. “Chicken and rice. His tummy is sensitive from the painkillers.”
Piper glanced at Hank sideways. “Want me to make you something?” he offered.
“Thanks, I’ll do it.” She went to the fridge and examined its contents. Piper pulled out a bowl of homemade chicken salad and sat down on the kitchen island. “This is really good! What’s in it? Raisins?”
“Cranberries.” Hank appeared at her side with a plate and a spoon, eyebrows raised.
Piper licked the fork and set it down. “Sorry,” she said, again. Her head ached and she was tired. Why was everyone so tense?
“So how’re the interviews going? Any leads on a teaching job?” The pot on the stove was at full boil and a cloud of steam enveloped her mother.
“Not yet,” she said, standing. “I think I’ll go upstairs for a nap.”
Hank followed her to the landing. “Let me help you, honey. Is this all you brought?”
There was a loud clatter from the kitchen and they both turned to see
Lindy bending over. “Damn it!” She’d dropped the big metal spoon and soup had splattered the floor. Bowser stretched his head from the safety of his bed to lick it. Hank grimaced.
Now would also not be a good time to tell them that everything she owned was parked in their driveway. Piper pointed to her lonely duffel bag. “Yep, that’s all.”
Eighteen
Wren
She let herself in the locked door of the Fisherman’s Daughter and closed it quickly behind her before leaning against it. The store was dark and quiet. This was her safe place. This was the place she felt she had everything under control.
The shoppers and vacationers had arrived en masse, but she kept the front door shade pulled down and had hung a sign that Lucy had helped her to paint that read GRAND OPENING COMING SOON! in bright red letters. Lucy had painted little blue fish around the edges. The display window was fully decorated. There was a vintage mannequin wearing a stretchy blue-and-white-striped dress beside a table with jewelry. A wooden trunk holding carefully arranged linens and scarves was open like a treasure chest. Wren took pleasure in the mix of elements: wood, linen, metal. She was almost ready to open her doors to the town. Something she’d worked all year to prepare for and something she’d been looking forward to for so long. But all of that paled in light of that morning.
Her father was back. She’d dropped him off at the motel with the only belongings he carried: a leather suitcase that she could tell used to be nice but was now held together with a strip of duct tape. And a black battered portfolio she recognized immediately; he’d stored and carried his work in it back in their Ridgevale beach home.
When she’d turned around to face him at the bus stop, she’d not been ready for what came. Leading up to this day, there had been so many scenarios she’d let play out. As a girl, she’d imagined it as a reunion of strong embraces and a child’s face buried against her father’s neck, breathing his familiar scent in again. As an adult, she felt a wave of protectiveness for that little girl who never had the opportunity. What came to her was that this man was a stranger. There was no pull in either direction of joy or anger. He was her father, but he was reduced. And she could not be sure if Caleb Bailey had been reduced by time and circumstance, or simply reduced in her eyes. It didn’t matter. He had once been the most important man in her life, but when he stood in front of her under the hot sun she’d felt nothing at all.
Sailing Lessons Page 14
