The Way Home (11 page)

A group of cyclists were gathered on the porch of the store, and a few more stood nearby at a scenic overlook. They took turns taking pictures of each other with the ocean in the background.

It looked as if Daisy's shop was open, too. The small, enchanted-looking cottage was set on a postage-stamp bit of property and circled by a rickety picket fence.

“What a weird little place,” Jamie said as they passed the cottage. “It looks like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves live there.”

Claire laughed. “I don't think there would be room for all seven in there, but I know what you mean.”

They finally left the square and were on the smooth blacktop road again. Jamie picked up speed. “Is it much farther?”

“A ways,” she answered. “It's worth it once you get there.”

They followed the road past more cottages and gracious old houses, some in good condition and some sadly run down. Then past empty areas filled with woods and meadows or stretches of tall marsh grass. They passed places where the view of the coastline would suddenly open up then disappear just as quickly.

Claire had lived on the island all her life, except for those two years in Boston. She never tired of the island or failed to be amazed at the variety of landscape compressed into such a small parcel of earth. She never failed to be awed by the island's beauty. She felt blessed to live in this place, still so natural and untamed.

She glanced over at Jamie and wondered if he was affected at all by the stunning views. He stared straight ahead, concentrating on the road, but seemed more relaxed than she had seen him all day.

They rounded a bend and the cliffs suddenly came into view straight ahead of them—jagged, golden, at least ten stories high.

“Wow,” Jamie said quietly.

Claire felt pleased to see him so impressed. “You can park anywhere on this road. We can walk the rest of the way.”

They got out of the car and began walking toward the cliffs. She was so happy to be in this place with Jamie, to finally show him the sight she had described so many times when he was young.

They walked along the sandy shoulder of the road, getting closer for a better view. Jamie walked ahead, seeming mesmerized. He pulled out his phone and took pictures.

The outline of the cliffs stood in stark contrast to a backdrop of clear blue sky. The legendary wing shape could be seen clearly from this angle, a golden crescent, with a point flaring out at the bottom, like a long feather.

Finally, Jamie put the phone back in his pocket. “Well, what do you think?” she asked.

“Pretty awesome. They look just like you told me. But even bigger.”

It was just past noon and the sun shone brilliantly, making Claire squint as she smiled at him. A breeze blew off the water, chasing away the heat. Claire felt the wind catch at her hair and pull loose a few strands from the pins that held her bun.

“What is that story about this place again? There were some sick people on the island and angels came to help them?”

“That's right, more or less . . . When the first settlers came to Cape Light there was a terrible illness during their second winter. They brought all the sick ones to this island, to quarantine them, and the poor people were stuck here all winter without any help. Do you remember the rest?”

“Yeah, I think I do. The villagers left all the sick people here and expected them to die. There was so much snow and stuff, no one could get out to help them. But in the spring, the sick people came back on boats by themselves and were, like, totally cured. They told the villagers that these mysterious strangers came to the island and helped them get healthy again.”

“That's right.” Claire nodded. He had remembered. She glanced at the cliffs again. “Many believed that the visitors must have been angels and pointed to the cliffs as a sign that the island was a sacred place, a place of help and healing.”

“I remembered that part, too. About the angels.” Jamie nodded. “Do you believe that?”

She had a feeling he would ask her that. “Let's just say I don't disbelieve it. I've seen amazing things in my lifetime, things that seemed totally improbable. The fact that you found me after all these years, I'd call that a miracle.”

Jamie slowly smiled. “I saw your name in a newspaper article. It's not like an angel whispered in my ear or something.”

“Really? How do you know? Maybe an angel pushed that paper in front of you.” Her tone was light and teasing, but she half meant it.

They walked a little farther. Jamie stopped to pick up a shell and stuck it in his pocket. A few steps later, he stopped again and showed Claire what he had found.

“Look at this . . . beach glass. I've never seen that color before. Have you?”

He held the piece out on his palm for Claire to see. About an inch long or slightly less, almost a triangle but smooth along the edges, it was golden yellow in hue, almost an amber color.

“Yes, it is very rare,” Claire agreed. “I've hardly ever seen one that color. You ought to save it.” Claire collected beach glass. She kept her finds in a big glass bowl near the window in the kitchen, where it caught the light at different times of the day.

Jamie stared at the treasure a moment. “Here, you take it.”

Claire was surprised. He had seemed pleased at first to find it. “You should save it. To remember this place,” she added.

He seemed to consider that a moment, then offered it to her again. “I'll just lose it somewhere. You save it for me.”

Claire didn't know what to do. She didn't want to refuse this gift, honestly offered. Small as it was, she knew she would cherish it. “Thank you. I will save it. In my collection, in the kitchen.”

He nodded. “I knew you'd have a good place for it.”

They kept walking. Claire saw a man with two small boys standing at the edge of the water, all of them wearing swimming trunks. Their suits were wet, their hair plastered to their heads. The man was in the middle holding the boys' hands very tightly and walking slowly into the surf. As the bigger waves rolled in, the man showed the boys how to duck and turn to the side, and let the water roll over their shoulders.

“He's teaching them how to get into the waves, so they won't be knocked over,” Claire said.

“Good thing to know. My dad never even took me to the beach.” Jamie laughed, but Claire could hear the hurt in his voice.

“When was the last time you saw your father? Are you still in touch with him?” she asked quietly.

“My dad died. About two years ago.” His voice was flat. He glanced at Claire and then back at the water. “He came back to my grandmother's house right before. He was pretty sick. I hadn't seen him for years. He'd been in jail but they let him out. My grandmother kept saying I needed to come see him. To say good-bye. I didn't really want to but I finally did. I'm not sure he even knew I was there but . . . I saw him that one time.”

Claire felt a bit stunned. Jamie had been through so much in his young life. It didn't seem fair.

“I'm sorry,” she said finally. “That must have been very hard for you.”

Jamie shrugged. “What's the difference? I just did it for my grandmother. She cared . . . He wasn't much, my dad. He was sort of a useless bum. I could barely stand to be around him at the end.” Claire was silent, not knowing what to say. She had wanted to get Jamie away from his father, and yet now, it seemed terribly sad that Jamie had so little love for him. Finally, she said, “I think you did the right thing by visiting him. You may think it doesn't matter, but someday, you'll look back and you won't have any regrets.”

He glanced at her and smirked. She knew he didn't believe her. She glanced at her watch. It was getting late. “Ready to go back?”

He nodded and turned to follow her.

Poor Jamie. He felt such scorn for his father. Claire suspected it was also turned inward.
He's afraid,
she realized.
Afraid that he'll turn out like his father, and there's nothing he can do about it.

But Jamie was better than that. She was absolutely sure of it. His past did not have to determine his future.

Just before they got in the car, they both glanced back at the cliffs for one last look.

“There's another explanation for those cliffs, you know,” she said, “the reason for their shape.”

“What's that?”

“Well, the water and wind, the tides and rain, slowly wearing them down, shaping them,” she explained. “Just like God's love shapes our lives. Working so gradually, we hardly know it.”

He met her glance but didn't reply. The smile he offered was humoring her, at best.

Claire was fine with that. She got into her side of the Jeep and fastened her seatbelt.

It was true, what she just told him. It happened all the time and could happen to him, too, if he allowed it. That was as great a miracle as any story about angels.

If there was only one thing she could do while Jamie was with her, it would be to convince him that he was essentially a good person, who could rise above his past. To make him believe that he could be a success in life, that he didn't have to end up a broken man, like his father. The question was:
How
could she do this? How could she make him believe what she knew to be true?

It will take a lot of patience, love, and understanding, and help of the Heavenly Father above,
Claire thought.
And maybe an angel or two.

Chapter Eight

A
VERY
was saving the Lobster Sliders idea for next Saturday. In the meantime, the plan for Monday night was “Pizza and a Movie.” Avery and Teresa had worked out a special menu of individual-sized pizzas with a choice of gourmet toppings—grilled mushrooms, artichokes, roasted asparagus, prosciutto, black olives, caramelized onions, barbequed chicken, and goat cheese. There were a lot of interesting things you could do with a lump of pizza dough. Avery did not feel she was lowering her standards in the least by devising these tasty, creative combinations.

Gena had generously offered the loan of a large, flat-screen TV and a DVD player. They were going to set it up on one side of the dining area, in full view of most tables, and run a classic movie.

Avery arrived at the café around noon on Monday, after a quick stop at the Gilroy Goat Farm, next to the inn, where she bought several kinds of goat cheese and some lavender for the vases.

On Sunday afternoon, she and Teresa had made pounds and pounds of pizza dough, and formed it into large balls. It was now stored on flat pans in the fridge. They would take out what they needed at about three o'clock, so it could rest at room temperature awhile, then separate each ball into smaller chunks and stretch out the individual pizzas.

She put the cheese away and set about moving the tables. It was really a job for Jack, she knew, but she was excited and needed to burn off some energy. There had been no time for advertising, but she and Gena had a made an eye-catching sign to post outside the café. Gena, who was the most artistic and had the best handwriting, was going to write out the special menu on a chalkboard, once she came in.

Avery had also made some handbills on Liza's computer and printed piles of them. She hoped that some extra pay would persuade Jack to go out on the beach and boardwalk this afternoon and hand them out.

She wasn't sure what else she could do. It was too late to hire a little private plane to drag a sign across the sky at the beach. Maybe next time, she joked with herself.

The crew had haggled a bit about which film to show. Suggestions ran the gamut from
Gone With the Wind
to
Jaws
—Jack's suggestion, which actually made some sense.

They had finally agreed on
Casablanca,
mainly because Teresa wore the rest of them down. “Who doesn't like
Casablanca
? You have to be dead to not like that movie. I've seen it a million times and I could see it a million more. ‘Here's lookin' at—'”

“Okay, done,” Avery cut in. She hurried to settle the matter before Teresa could quote any more dialogue “I think there's a copy at the inn. I'm sure I can borrow it.” Avery made a note to ask Liza.

“Save that list of movies. We'll need it for other Mondays,” Gena said.

Avery glanced at her.
If
the idea worked. If it didn't, they would end up with a fridge full of pizza dough, a mountain of fresh mozzarella, and a long list of random ingredients. But she held her tongue and didn't undermine the enthusiasm.

By the time they had left the café on Saturday night, Avery had a week's worth of customer-attracting ideas: “Two-for-One Tuesday,” “Pasta Party!” on Wednesday and “Fish-Kabob Friday.”

On the weekend, the most important time to pack in the customers, they had high hopes for “Lobster Sliders Saturday,” and would follow up with a good old-fashioned Sunday brunch.

Had she ever expected to be marketing her café this way?

Never in a million years.
But when life hands you a piece of Stilton, you can't just stand there and hold your nose. You have to make a little fondue out of it,
Avery reasoned.
Or even a gourmet pizza.

“Hey, what are you up to in here? Redecorating already?”

Mike walked in through the French doors, which stood open to let in the morning air. It was so sunny outside and so dark in the café, Avery hadn't noticed him. She had also been pushing around the tables and chairs at a furious pace.

“Just . . . reorganizing a bit,” she said vaguely.

She glanced at him, wondering if he could guess that something was up today at her café.
He's been in the business so long, he can probably smell it,
she thought.

Avery felt torn. Part of her wanted to share her new plans with him, to see what he thought of her strategy . . . and just because . . . well, because she liked him and liked confiding in him. Another part of her needed to show him she could do it on her own. Without his coaching or advice. He had been very kind, but for some reason she felt that she needed to show him that she could do anything he could do. And better, too.

And yet another part of her warned that all these warm, mushy feelings for Mike were not a good idea. He was in the business, which meant it just couldn't go anywhere, no matter how happy she felt when he cast one of those megawatt smiles her way.

“Here, let me help you with that.” While her thoughts rambled, Mike stepped over to help her move a particularly stubborn table.

He stood very close, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. Her bare arm rubbed against his muscular biceps. She suddenly felt so nervous that when they pushed together, the heavy wood table nearly flew across the room.

“Whoa, you're stronger than you look, Avery.” He was trying to tease her, as usual. But a slight blush showed under his tan. Avery could tell he felt flustered by their nearness, too. She didn't know what to say and took a step away from him.

“Yes, I am. Can I take that as a compliment?” she teased him back. Before he could answer, she added, “Would you like some iced coffee? I was just going to make one for myself.”

A cold drink would be a good distraction, she thought. She knew from the warmth in her cheeks that she was blushing. She hoped he didn't notice.

She hoped he didn't stay long, either. Gena and her husband would arrive soon with the big TV. Then she would be obliged to tell him about their plans, and that didn't feel right.

“Iced coffee sounds good.” He followed her into the kitchen, where she grabbed the pitcher of cold coffee out of the fridge and slammed it shut again. She scanned the kitchen, looking for telltale signs of pizza dough prep, and was relieved to see there were none.

“So, what's going on here tonight? Looks like you're clearing a space. Are you going to have music?”

“Music? . . . Not tonight . . . but I've been thinking about it,” she said honestly.

They had been so busy working on menu gimmicks, she hadn't even gotten around to something obvious, like hiring a trio of some kind. Though Teresa said her grandson and his friends had a very good group that played jazz and popular songs at parties in the area, and he was going to stop by this week to meet Avery.

Mike poured a dollop of milk and two sugars in his coffee.

“I have a few cards from musicians that are pretty reasonable,” he offered. “How did you do this weekend? Any improvement?”

“Not much better than my very ungrand Grand Opening.” She shrugged and sipped her coffee. “I don't think the new ads worked very well.”

“Too bad,” he commiserated. “But—”

“I know, don't panic,” she cut in, beating him to his favorite line. “I'm not. Honestly.”

He smiled at her, his bright expression and the warmth in his brown eyes made her feel . . . all melty, she thought. Like a marshmallow under the broiler.

“You're a quick study, Avery.”

“I try to be.” Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. “Excuse me a minute, I think it's Gena.” She picked up the phone and checked the message, careful not to let Mike see the screen.

TV is packed. Sorry it took us longer than I thought. But will be there in a few minutes.—G.

Avery took a sharp breath and put the phone down. Gena would be here any second with the huge TV, and then Mike would be full of questions . . . and comments and advice.

He'll find out soon enough when you put the sign up and Jack goes around with the flyers
.

But by then it will be so late in the day, he'll be too busy at his own place to bother with me much
. Avery imagined how good it would feel to have him see the Peregrine with a full house, all her own doing. Besides, she reasoned, it wasn't as if she was under any obligation to tell him everything about the café. He would never expect that.

“Anything wrong?” Mike had just about finished his coffee and tipped it back to the last drops and the bit of sugar that always settled at the bottom. Avery couldn't help looking at his strong tan neck and the patch of dark hair at the top of his open polo shirt.

“Nothing,” she said, clearing her throat a bit. “Gena's running a little late.” She put down her glass and smiled at him. “Hey, you know what? I still haven't gotten out on the beach. Isn't that unbelievable?”

“Sure is. I have to get out there at least once a day. I take a walk early in the morning, or around sunset, when it's empty and quiet. Clears my head and makes me feel all energized again.”

“That sounds great. I could really use a break like that.” She glanced at her watch. Gena would be pulling up in five minutes or less. “Maybe I should head out right now. Nobody's here yet and pretty soon I'll be so busy, I won't have a spare minute.”

“Good idea.” Mike rose as well and put his glass in the sink. “Want some company? I could use a little exercise.”

Avery hadn't expected that. She was just trying to get him out of the café. Hadn't he said he took his walks early or late in the day? It was already close to eleven.

But she liked the idea of going with him. “That would be great. I'm going to send Gena a quick text,” she added, closing the French doors and leaving the main door in front unlocked.

Park in the alley. Kitchen door is unlocked. See you later.

Avery grabbed her sunglasses and they set out down Ferry Street, walking side by side. She suddenly realized that she had never seen Mike outside of her café. It was a slightly odd feeling to be out in the world with him, but at the same time, not odd at all. She felt relaxed in his company, as if they were already familiar in some way, though the truth was they hardly knew each other.

As they passed Sunshine Sundries, the owner, Mrs. McNulty, was setting up some new beach chairs in front of her shop. Mike paused to greet her. Avery had met her neighbor once or twice so far and also said hello.

“How's business this summer, Nancy?”

“Very good, Mike. People always forget something when they go to the beach. And I've always got just the thing they're missing,” she said with a laugh. “How is the café doing, Avery? Are you open every night?”

An innocent question but it made Avery wince. Did her place look so empty that people thought it was closed? Well, that could be part of the problem right there.

“Yes, every night,” she said in what she hoped was an upbeat tone. “And we're going to start serving brunch on Sunday.”

“Everybody loves a nice brunch. Good for you,” Nancy said approvingly.

“Good idea, Avery. I think you'll bring in a lot of business with that one,” Mike agreed.

“I hope so,” she said lightly. She hadn't meant to tell him that either, but now that he knew, she appreciated his encouraging words.

They walked a bit farther and then crossed the street and climbed a few steps up to the new wooden boardwalk that bordered the beachfront.

The boardwalk was very wide, fringed with beach grass on one side and equipped with long wooden benches that were sheltered from the sun. There was a large building at one end, near the ferry station, that housed showers and changing rooms with lockers. Visitors could rent umbrellas, beach strollers, and other beach equipment there.

“Would you like to walk on the boardwalk or the shore?” Mike asked.

Normally, Avery preferred being as close as possible to the water, but she wasn't dressed for it this morning. “The boardwalk is fine today. I just wanted to get some air. I don't want to get back into the kitchen all sandy,” she added.

And risk getting sand in the pizza.

“Good point,” he agreed. “You get a great view of the ocean from here. They really thought that through. I know a lot of people on the island didn't want to see anything built here, but I think the county did a nice job with the changes.”

Avery had read about it in the first article she found about Angel Island and then heard more from Liza and Claire. Many people on the island had opposed the development of the ferry station area and, for a while, it didn't seem as though the plan would go through.

“There was a lot of debate,” Mike recalled. “I felt sort of caught in the middle. I knew it would be a boon to my restaurant, but I do love the island and felt protective of this place.”

“How do you feel now?” she asked curiously. “Do you think the changes have ruined it?”

“Not at all. I think the county did a good job respecting the environment and the area's natural beauty. And I'm sure a lot more people can come here now and enjoy this part of island without feeling as if they're trekking into uncharted territory.”

Avery was sure the island wasn't quite that rugged or isolated back in the day, but she knew what Mike meant. There were a lot of conveniences for families here, and she saw many seniors on the boardwalk, too, even some in wheelchairs. People who might have once found it very challenging to enjoy the beach could now come here easily.

They stopped walking and stood together, leaning against the railing and looking out at the beach and the wide blue sea. There was a light breeze today, catching the waves and creating whitecaps all along the shoreline. The surf was a little rough for swimming, but the swimmers did not seem daunted, and screams of delight echoed up and down the beach.

“It's a good thing,” she agreed.