Meet Me at the Beach (Seashell Bay) (8 page)

As far as Aiden could tell, she wasn’t bitter or judgmental. If anything, she sounded sad for him. “
Hate
’s a strong word,” he said cautiously.

Was she right that not much had changed? Sometimes it felt like everything had changed. He’d left Seashell Bay fourteen years ago with his dreams in full bloom, a pro contract in his pocket, and the promise of a major-league baseball career. Now, that career was in tatters and his future in the game murky at best. The golden boy had come home with a decidedly tarnished luster.

“I wish you could see the island the way I see it, Aiden,” she said, her green eyes so earnestly intense. “See the people the way I see them. Seashell Bay is such a beautiful place, and the people are just so damn decent, despite their faults. I hate it that your father took that away from you.”

Aiden pressed his lips together, his tangled emotions keeping him silent.

“There’s so much good here,” Lily went on in a gentle but relentless voice. “So much that’s right for the soul. You just have to be able to see it.”

He wanted to. He really did, but he could still see her father stomping down the pier, eyes full of suspicion and fury. And then there was his dad, whose contempt and anger toward him—an anger Aiden had never fully understood—had colored everything about the place. There was too much ugliness in his past, too much darkness to ever make the island right for him again.

But he couldn’t say that. Not all of it, anyway.

“The only good thing I see in Seashell Bay is you, Lily, just like always,” he said, briefly cupping her soft cheek. “But you’re right, nothing’s changed for me. Nothing fundamental, anyway.”

When Lily’s pretty mouth pursed in dismay, it was all Aiden could do not to grab her and kiss away the pain—his pain more than hers, he suspected. Instead, he turned away to gaze across the channel and think about the complicated mess his life had become.

“Well, I really should get going,” she finally mumbled. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, you should.” He turned to face her and smiled. Hell, there was no reason to take his crappy mood out on Lily, the one bright spot in his life right now. “But will I see you at the Pot tonight? Or are you going to be too busy plotting my downfall in the race?”

Lily’s laughter was sweet music as it echoed over the still waters of the harbor. “No and no. I’m sure I’ll be too exhausted to hang out at the Pot.”

It sucked that he wouldn’t see her, but he couldn’t deny the pleasure in hearing that she obviously wasn’t doing the bar scene. He guessed that made him a jealous asshole when he had no right to be, but he could live with it. “That’s a shame. But if you change your mind, I’ll buy you a drink. Or two.”

“I won’t,” she said as she climbed back into her skiff. “But maybe I’ll see you at the Blueberry Festival tomorrow.” Then she suddenly cut him a teasing smile.

“What?” he asked, as she yanked the outboard’s starter cord and the little engine came to life with a cough and a puff of acrid smoke.

“I still remember how darn cute you looked when you were selling those pies at the festival for your mom,” she yelled over the motor noise. “You did that every year until high school, as I recall. What a good little boy you were back then.”

Aiden gave her a mock scowl as he used his foot to ease the skiff away from the pier. He not only remembered the blueberry pies he’d sold to festivalgoers from a goofy booth, he could still practically smell them and taste their summer sweetness on his tongue. Nobody could bake a blueberry pie like his mother, God rest her sweet soul.

He stood and watched Lily’s skiff putter out to the channel, feeling like he had a strange hole in the center of his chest. Then he turned and retreated back up the dock until he hit the road again at a flat-out run.

A
s Aiden pulled into O’Hanlon’s boatyard, he glanced out at the spectacular view of the sun setting over the bay. Sinking fast, it streamed muted shades of purple and orange from the horizon, outlining in sharp detail the other nearby islands. He took a long look, enjoying the sound of the waves slapping against the shoreline and the total absence of traffic noise. He’d forgotten the deep quiet of the island, his memory wiped by years of city living. Then he got out of the truck and headed straight past the shop to the marina, where Roy Mayo would be waiting for him on
Irish Lady
.

When Roy called Aiden’s cell and cryptically suggested that he and Bram might want to mosey on down to O’Hanlon’s for a “private” chat, Aiden had been torn between suspicion and relief. Suspicion because, well, a cryptic Roy was never a good thing, and relief because Aiden was sick of seeing his brother—three-quarters in the bag after polishing off a six-pack—sucked into yet another online poker game. Bram was so obsessed it made Aiden want to puke.

Tired of fighting with Bram about it, Aiden had spent most of the afternoon before Roy’s call meandering across the family land, refamiliarizing himself with the near-wild beauty of Seashell Bay Island. His parcel, in the middle of the most rugged part of the property, featured the steepest bluffs and the best views of the ocean. At the bottom of those dark bluffs, narrow beaches strewn with seaweed and driftwood dotted the coastline, broken up by groupings of rocks of all sizes, some as big as a pickup truck. He’d loved climbing those rocks when he was a kid, one of the few good memories of his childhood.

His feet had then seemed to gravitate toward one particular spot where someone in his mother’s family had long ago cut a zigzagging trail down a more gently sloping portion of the bluffs, a path now so overgrown by wild brush that he barely recognized it. When he finally reached the bottom and stood on the rocky beach, he’d had to give himself a thorough check for any deer ticks he might have picked up on his trek through the dense foliage. Getting Lyme disease was an ever-present worry on an island with a sizable deer population, and he sure as hell didn’t need to add that to his list of woes.

He’d turned his back to the ocean to gaze back up to the top of the bluffs, remembering one summer afternoon—he was thirteen, he thought—when he and his mother had gone for one of their long walks, eventually wending their way down that same path to the sea. While he’d skimmed flat stones over the water, his mother had talked dreamily about how this piece of land would be a perfect place for him to someday build his home. It wasn’t just because it had a world-class view, she’d said. It was because she
wanted her grandchildren to be able to slip easily down the bluffs to the ocean and play on the rocks and in the sea, learning to appreciate the awe-inspiring gift they’d been given by their ancestors over the generations.

That was the land that Bram and his dad wanted to sell to developers. His mother would have hated the prospect, fighting tooth and nail and with every ounce of strength in her petite body to prevent it from happening.

Aiden still got a lump in his throat whenever he thought about his mom and how unfair it had been that she’d been stricken down by heart disease while relatively young. But being back here in Seashell Bay, especially on the land she’d gifted him, made him miss her in an even more profound way. Mom had cherished every rock, every tree, and every ounce of soil on this little outpost. In his mind, she was forever connected to it, even a part of it.

And in some weird way, the island itself seemed to mock him, making her absence that much more painful.

Aiden crossed the boat yard to where
Irish Lady
was moored and climbed over her gunwale. Roy was sitting in a canvas chair in front of the wheel, his feet up on a plastic crate and a beer in his right hand. A beat-up Boston Red Sox ball cap was pulled low on his head, almost covering his eyes. Damn near everybody in this part of the country was a Sox diehard. Not once could he recall seeing anyone with a Phillies cap or T-shirt, despite the fact that a local boy played for Philadelphia.

Had
played for Philadelphia.

“Working hard, I see,” Aiden said.

“Don’t sass me, boy.” Roy pointed to a minicooler in the stern. “Help yourself to a cold one.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Aiden picked his way around some greasy metal parts and popped open the lid of the cooler, then reached in to pull a Shipyard from the melted ice. He wiped the wet bottle on his jeans and opened it. “So, what’s up with the old girl that called for this urgent pow-wow?”

Don’t tell me the tub isn’t even going to make it to the starting line.
That thought froze him with horror.

Roy exhaled a rattling breath. “Well, Mike and Jessie did a good job getting her cleaned up and back in the water, and I’ve been doing some tinkering today on the diesel.”

Aiden lifted a brow. “Tinkering, huh?” With engine parts strewn all over the deck, it looked more like a rebuild to him. Or a massacre.

“Nothing too dramatic, but when I took her out to the channel this afternoon and gave her full throttle…” He shot Aiden a little sheepish grin. “Well, let’s just say there was a bit of smoke. Do you want the technical details?”

Aiden grimaced. “I know dick-all about diesel engines and don’t want to. Just tell me you’re going to be able to fix it. In time for the race, obviously.”

Roy put his beer down on the deck and sat up straight, leaning over to rest his stringy forearms on his khaki-clad thighs. “There’s a bit of a problem.”

Crap.
Realistically, Aiden knew he had a damn good chance of losing to Lily, but it would really stick in his craw if he had to pull out because this geezer had annihilated his father’s boat. “Spit it out, Roy,” he said as calmly as he could manage.

“The damn power chip in the engine control unit is blown.”

“ ‘Is blown’? You mean
you
blew it on the test run, after your
modifications
, right?” Aiden said through gritted teeth.

Roy picked up his beer and leaned back again, the definition of old-school casual. “Shit happens, son. You wanted me to make this boat faster, so don’t start whining on me now.”

Aiden wasn’t whining, but he was definitely second-guessing his father and brother for their confidence in Rocket Roy. “Can you get a replacement and somehow put all this back together in time? And preferably for at least one test run before the race?”

“Sure, but there are chips and then there are
chips
. I can get a run-of-the-mill unit in Portland tomorrow, but if you really want to win this thing, you need to upgrade. And it’s going to cost.”

“And of course you can’t get that kind of gem locally, can you?”

“Nope. The only place I could find the one we need is in Washington.”

“D.C.?” Aiden said hopefully.

Roy gave an evil chuckle. “Washington
State
. Seattle area.”

“Of course,” Aiden muttered, his mind trying to calculate how long it might take to get the part on a plane to Portland, then get it over to the island, install it and complete the reassembly of the diesel. He didn’t like the number he came up with. “I don’t care what that chip costs, but can they put it on a damn airplane and get it here on time?”

Roy glanced at his watch. “I asked the guy out there to stand by until I got word from you one way or the other.
There’s a three-hour time difference, so he might be able to get it here by first thing in the morning. If we’re lucky.”

“Then do it,” Aiden said. No freaking way was he settling for second best, at least not yet. “If you get the chip in the morning, will you be able to get all this ready?” He indicated the mess of parts scattered around the deck.

“Hope so,” Roy said. “I’ll tell you one thing, son. If that new chip is as good as they say it is, we could get 30 percent more horsepower and more torque too. I wasn’t sure it would work in this baby, but after talking to the manufacturer, it looks like we’re a go.”

The elderly man’s sudden, enthusiastic grin slightly eased Aiden’s worries. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about, and Aiden had to admit it was pretty awe-inspiring to see a man so engaged and enthusiastic in the tenth decade of his life.

Aiden extended his hand, and Roy rose and shook it. “Then give it all you’ve got, Roy.”

The old rascal gave him a wink. “One more thing before you go. As far as Miss Annie knows, I’m playing poker at your dad’s place tonight. So you’re with the program, right, son?”

Aiden grinned. “You bet your ass I am, sir.”

At its last get-together, the little group that met tonight in Saint Anne’s-by-the-Sea Catholic Church hall had decided to call itself the Seashell Bay Smart Development Coalition, or SDC for short. Lily had come up with the name, figuring who wouldn’t be in favor of
smart
development for the island? In truth, though, for her and most others in the group, smart development was pretty much synonymous with
no
development. She liked the island
the way it was, and if that made her something of a dinosaur, so be it.

She’d arrived a little late for the weekly meeting, because she’d spent extra time with Josh Bryson at the dock, chatting about
Miss Annie
and her new modifications, before heading to her parents’ place to wolf down dinner. After hitching a ride with Morgan and her father, Lily had rushed in to take her seat at the head table beside the SDC chairman, Jack Gallant, who also headed up the Seashell Bay Fishermen’s Association, and the secretary, the real Miss Annie. Somehow, in a moment of weakness, Lily had let Gallant and her grandmother cajole her into taking on the role of treasurer, even though she had about as much financial know-how as a barrel of bait.

Feeling tired and grungy after a long day on the boat, Lily prayed for a noncontentious meeting. But she knew it was a prayer of faint hope. Most residents had no reluctance to voice their opinions forcefully and at length. Lobstermen in particular marched to the beat of their private drummers, and that made reaching a consensus—especially a speedy one—rarely possible.

The fifty-something, grizzled Gallant rapped his gavel twice on the laminated wood table where Lily had eaten many a church supper. “There’s only one item on the agenda tonight,” he said gruffly. “Getting our message out at the Blueberry Festival. It’s the perfect opportunity to not only hand out the leaflet but to buttonhole people too. So we’re going to need as many volunteers as we can get.” His thick brows pulled together into a unibrow as he frowned, shifting his gaze around the room. “I expect everybody here to sign up.”

“But Jack, there are some folks here who are for the car
ferry,” Dottie Buckle piped up. She shot a scathing glance at Town Selectman Albie Emory, one of the island’s elected politicians.

“Dottie, I meant everybody who supports our position,” Gallant said patiently.

“Then why the devil didn’t you just say so, Jack?” lobsterman Rex Fudge said, after removing his unlit pipe from his mouth. “You got to be clear about things—otherwise a fellow can get confused.”

Lily swallowed a laugh. Rex was a sweetie but not the sharpest hook in the water.

Gallant turned to Miss Annie, fidgeting with her usual bottled-up energy as she kept squaring the edges of the stacks of flyers in front of her. “You and Lily can hand out the flyer and that other thing,” he said with a boat captain’s authority. He turned to face the audience again. “You’ll each get one copy now, but you have to pick up your share of the rest of the flyers on the way out.”

Lily and Miss Annie got down from the platform and quickly distributed the flyer and that “other thing” Gallant had mentioned—a set of talking points aimed at helping the volunteers make their case in one-on-one conversations over the festival weekend. While Lily was largely responsible for the content of the documents, she’d asked the local schoolteacher, Tessa Nevin, to do the actual wordsmithing.

When she got back to her seat, Lily pretended to read the documents like everybody else, even though she had them down by heart.

“Okay, Lily,” Gallant said after it was clear most people had finished reading. Only Rex still had his head down, tracing words with a nicotine-stained index finger. “Over to you.”

Lily had no intention of making a speech. Hell, people could read, couldn’t they? “I think everything you see is pretty straightforward. If you’ve got any questions, ask them now, because I’m sure lots of folks would rather be down at the Pot than sitting here on these awful chairs.” She smiled at Father Mike, the town priest, sitting quietly at the back of the hall. “Sorry, Father. You know how much we appreciate the use of the hall.”

But I’d rather be soaking in a tub of hot water and bubble bath, a glass of red wine in one hand and an Amelia Peabody mystery in the other.

“You got that right, Lil. The part about going to the Pot, that is,” head EMT and town carpenter Brendan Porter said from the back row. Then he grimaced and looked behind him. “No offense, Father Mike.”

Fellow EMT Boone Cleary snickered and gave Brendan a fist bump.

Cal Merrifield held up his hand. Morgan’s father, who used to own the Pot, now ran the B&B. “I hate to bring this up, but I think the flyer is a little one-sided,” Cal said in a slightly high-pitched, worried voice.

Miss Annie bounced in her chair. “Oh, for God’s sake, Cal, of course it’s one-sided. We’re trying to win the damn vote, not hold a college debate!”

Cal ignored the laughter that rippled through the hall. “Everybody knows a car ferry would bring a lot more business to the island. That would benefit everybody. This group is supposed to be about smart development. To me, that means we should be trying to preserve our way of life, but moving forward too.”

“Ah, Cal, my friend,” Lily’s grandfather, Preston, said quickly, leaning forward and patting Merrifield’s
shoulder, “it sounds to my old ears like you want to have your cake and eat it too. You want the car ferry because you think it’ll bring more guests to your inn, but you don’t want the big resort they’re talking about building on the Flynn land. The way I see it, though, you’re just not going to get one without the other.”