Summer Harbor (11 page)

“No. We never dated.” What they’d had could never be mistaken for dating.

Grainger left and climbed back into his truck, his throat painful as he held back the words he wanted to say.
Shut up Toby. Do not mention that woman’s name to me again. What we had was not the normal boy-girl relationship, and I know nothing about the woman she’s become.
Until Kiley left Hawke’s Cove, or Toby sold the damned house, he wouldn’t be having morning coffee at Linda’s again.

If he didn’t have so much work promised to his customers, he might have thrown his tent and backpack in the truck and gone camping until August.

And there was something else keeping him here. Grainger had promised Will sailing lessons, and he wouldn’t renege on that. He’d been thinking about it, and decided he wouldn’t deprive either of them of the chance to get to know one another. Even if he wasn’t Will’s father, at least he could do for him what a father should do. Make a sailor of him. And if he was his actual father…Well, it would be better if he wasn’t, the way he felt about Will’s mother. Grainger wanted to think of him as Mack’s son. That’s what he wanted.

Will banged through the front door and up the stairs to his room. Kiley heard the thump of dropped sneakers and the squeak of the old-fashioned shower faucets being turned on. She lit the fire under the kettle and went back to the phone.

Her conversation with Mrs. Finnergan had been wrenching. Just yesterday, they’d sent in a deposit for their fortieth-anniversary cruise. He told her he’d be back, go back to sleep, and kissed her gently. Worst of all, the patient he’d been called in to see was fine; it hadn’t been necessary for John to go in at all. Kiley and Mrs. Finnergan had wept together. Before Kiley hung up, Mrs. Finnergan reiterated that there was no need for her to cut her vacation short. The memorial service wouldn’t be for at least two weeks. No need to go home at all, Kiley thought; nothing to hurry back to.

Afterward, she’d tried twice to reach her mother. She had to tell her about Doc John, but also needed to talk her into finding another agent. Toby, with his skewed sense of value, was the wrong guy to represent this house. It was more than just selling the place; it was finding it a new family. You didn’t just
sell
a three-generation—no, four-generation with Will—family summerhouse, a place filled with memories; you chose a new family for it, someone who would love it and fill it with their own memories, compatible with those already in residence.

The line was still busy.

Will was in the kitchen making his tea, and Kiley went to join him, needing a few minutes of easy conversation before she told him what had happened. “So, how was your run? You were gone longer than I would have given you credit for. Maybe you’ll run in the Boston Marathon next year.” She took out a mug and dropped an Earl Grey teabag into it.

“It was okay. I got a ride back.”

“I wish you hadn’t done that, Will; you know how I feel about hitchhiking. Even here, you can’t be taking rides with strangers.” So much for easy conversation.

“It wasn’t a stranger. Not really.” As Will turned to hunt for the box of lemon tea, she could see his damp hair swirling at the crown with the undefeatable cowlick that had always charmed her and annoyed him. “Grainger Egan brought me home.”

Kiley handed him the box, then poured hot water into her mug, watching the teabag plump with air. “How did you bump into him?” She jabbed the floating teabag with her spoon, sinking it.

“I didn’t. He’s giving me sailing lessons.”

Kiley sat down at the kitchen table. Her hands encircled the hot mug and she stared into it. “And how did that come about?”

“I guess I sort of asked him if he would teach me.”

“When did you do that?”

“A couple of days ago.” Will yanked open the silverware drawer, rattling the loose flatware. “Before I asked you about lessons.”

Kiley kept her eyes on the tea. “Before I introduced you to him?”

Will didn’t answer, just fiddled with making his tea.

Kiley slapped the table. “Will Harris, how many more secrets are you planning on keeping from me? First you’re smoking dope; then you’re taking sailing lessons behind my back. What else aren’t you telling me?”

“Hey, I never lied to you. I told you I smoked; I never denied it. And I just told you I’m taking the lessons. I’m only doing what
you’ve
done all my life.”

“What?”

“Keeping back the truth.”

“How dare you.” Kiley lay her palms flat on the tabletop to prevent their trembling; she tried to imagine how Will and Grainger might have met. Their equal silence that night was damning. Grainger must have initiated the contact and then asked Will to keep it secret. “How dare he?”

“What? Give me sailing lessons? That’s what he does.”

“No, how dare he have you keep it secret.”

“Grainger told me to tell you. He didn’t want me to keep it secret. Frankly, I think he’s as uncomfortable as you are with the idea.” Will sat down at the table with her. “Why are you both being so weird? Why won’t you admit you were good friends? Maybe better than good friends? What happened?”

You can’t come back to a place where memory is so powerful and survive. The anger thinned into resignation. She looked into Will’s eyes. “A very long time ago, we were friends. That’s all. Now drop it.”

The afternoon that she jokingly gave Grainger the scrap of paper with the twins’ telephone number on it, things began to change. Kiley had expected Grainger to react to the suggestion with the same derision Mack had. Instead he’d stalked off, looking hurt, even angry. Kiley scowled. It was just a joke. What made him so damned sensitive all of a sudden?

She scraped the tiles off the Scrabble board into the dark purple box, Grainger’s last word unscored. “So what’s the matter with Grainger?”

Mack shrugged, bending to pick up a couple of tiles that had fallen to the floor. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think he’s been a little different this summer?”

Mack dropped the tiles into the box and took the cover out of Kiley’s hands. “I think he has the same problem we all do this summer.”

“What’s that?”

“We know that after this summer, it will never be exactly the same.”

Kiley wished that she could say, “That’s not true,” and it wouldn’t be. But she, too, had been feeling this sense of finality at odd times, fighting the maudlin urge to think, “This is the last time we’ll ever do this,” whatever the moment or activity. She took a deep breath, afraid of voicing this thing, this death of their idyll. Of their childhoods. “Then we need to make this the best summer ever.”

“I’m trying, Kiley, I’m trying.”

“I know.” She stood behind Mack’s chair. As she had often done without a thought, Kiley reached her arms around his neck and hugged him. A quick squeeze of friendship, nothing more. Except that her hands touched his chest and she lay her soft cheek against his sun-roughened neck. Mack stood up and turned around, holding her in his arms as if afraid she’d run away. They didn’t kiss, but the action of his pulling her to him was enough to weight the moment with significance. Maybe for an instant, maybe a little more, she let herself enjoy the full physical sensation of his arms around her. In the next instant they separated with a guilty pulling away, as if they expected Grainger to walk back through the door; instinctively knowing he’d be upset that they had crossed that unspoken boundary, committing a nearly incestuous act, creating a chink in the walls that safeguarded their friendship. Mack left soon after, neither saying another word, pretending that nothing had happened.

The heat of the July day was palpable in Kiley’s uninsulated upstairs bedroom. Stashed under her bed was a shoe box full of photographs from over the years. A lot of them were silly shots of too distant landmarks, or birthday parties, or Mortie as a puppy. Kiley spread all of them out on her bed, then selected five. When placed end to end, the five pictures created a photographic record of her childhood, of her decade’s worth of summers with Mack and Grainger.

It seemed terribly important she remember that not only were they
both
her best friends, they were also each other’s. Her friendship with either of them could never be romantic. Buddies. Mates. Pals. Boy friends, not boyfriends. Besides, how could she ever choose? She loved Mack for his jokes and loyalty. She loved Grainger for his kindness and intellect. She didn’t
want
to love them in any other way.

They were the two halves of her whole.

If she became attached to one more than the other, it would disconnect all three of them. As she scribbled names and dates on the backs of the pictures, it came to her that maybe it was only Mack, with his flowers and hug, who’d begun thinking of her in a romantic way.

Kiley hunted around her dresser drawer for some tacks. What if the two boys had discussed this, this girl-boy thing, and decided between them who should get her? Had Grainger left Mack here alone for just such a reason? Kiley rejected the idea out of hand. But was there something significant in Grainger’s strange behavior today? Between them, was there the tension of competing males? What value did their threesome have if she jeopardized it by making them compete for her?

Kiley swiped the scattered pictures back into the shoe box. The truth was, the tension was within her. Anticipation. Temptation. Would it be a sweeter friendship to claim one of them as more than a friend? Kiley knocked the box of pictures off the bed with her knee. No! No. No. Nothing should change. Not now, not just when their whole lives were about to change.

Kiley scowled at the the pictures. They had to keep this friendship pure and simple, or risk everything they valued about it.

Kiley damned the Doublemints for ever putting this suggestion in her mind. But they had done nothing more than open the box; the thoughts had already been forming. They’d been forming ever since she’d arrived back in Hawke’s Cove, awakening at the first sight of her two friends, suddenly more men than boys. Their early tans showed off a winter’s worth of sports, tall, lean, and no longer the gangly colts they’d been the summer before. Even their voices had changed, no longer treacherous but solidly masculine. They smelled of salt and air and that pungent smell of spring earth.

Kiley began to pin the five chosen photographs to the wall. She was glad that she had no close girlfriend here, one who might ask: If you
had
to choose…

Kiley sipped at her cold tea. “I had some bad news this morning.”

Will gulped his tea and stood to dump the dregs into the sink. “What bad news?”

She told him.

Will had known Doc John all his life. The pediatrician had recently performed Will’s college physical, kidding him that he was old enough to go to a grown-up doctor now.

“Aww, Mom. That’s rough. I’m so sorry.” Will gave her a quick hug. “Are you okay?”

“Well, I’m very sad, and, truthfully, a little afraid. This means I’m out of a job.”

“Boy, you’ve taken a few hits this summer.” Will pulled at one ear. “Look on the bright side. Maybe you can work in a hospital—a change of pace. Something exciting, for once.”

“Thank you, Will Harris, philosopher. I can’t even think right now. Too much is going on.”

“Does this mean we can stay in Hawke’s Cove longer? I mean, if you don’t have a job to go back to…why not?”

“Because I should probably go back right now to start looking for a new job. So, let’s just stick to Plan A.” Will was right, she had taken some hits this summer. First his arrest, then selling the house, then the doctor’s death and her sudden unemployment. Layered on top of all that, Grainger Egan was back in her life, his presence shadowing her.

The August Races were only a couple of weeks away, and it seemed like
Blithe Spirit
was nowhere near ready for launching, when suddenly everything seemed to come together. The sparkling white marine paint above the waterline nearly disguised the layers of fiberglass sullying the otherwise perfect plane of her wooden sides. Below the waterline, they had painted her blue.
Blithe Spirit
was painted in black and gold on the white transom.

They launched her on the first day of August. Mack’s father was friends with a fellow from the Great Harbor Shipyard, so they bartered the cost of trailering her to the boat launch there. Kiley promised three free nights of baby-sitting for the man’s three kids, Mack had lawn-cutting duty, and Grainger would help him rerig a similar Beetle Cat. Flanked by her two best friends, Kiley watched with openmouthed excitement as
Blithe Spirit
was floated off the submerged trailer. The boat immediately began to take on water. Her planks were so dry from years of exposure that, even with caulking, she leaked like the oft-described sieve. They began bailing. It would take a couple of days before the planks swelled tight; in the meantime, they’d try to keep the water from sinking her entirely. Mack, Grainger, and Kiley sat on the slatted cockpit seats, using old bleach bottles cut into scoops to control the inflow. They sat as the wraparound wooden bench allowed, starboard, larboard, and stern. Three sets of bare feet touched, toe to toe.

They wet each other thoroughly with mistimed casts of the scoops, laughing with each drenching, laughing with the pure joy of having accomplished the impossible. Mack’s constant grin was testimony to his happiness.

“This must be what it’s like to give birth.” Kiley stroked the tiller as if it were a pet. “All that work, and suddenly, here it is.”

“A labor of love.” Grainger looked at her with hand-shadowed eyes.

“Keep bailing, or she’ll be love’s labor lost.” Mack stamped his feet, spraying them with salt water.

Kiley rowed them back to shore in her father’s dinghy. Grainger had afternoon classes to teach and hurried away as soon as they touched shore. Mack helped Kiley tie the little rowboat up to the club’s floating dock. “Want to go swimming?”

“Sure. Why don’t we stay here?” Meaning they could see Grainger and maybe tease him from a distance. Kiley was unaccountably edgy.

“I was thinking more about Bailey’s Cove.”

They seldom went there; the public beach was very small and a little hard to get to. Kiley nearly voiced dissension, but didn’t. It would be fun to go somewhere different, have a little adventure. “Sure, why not.”