Under a Summer Sky (3 page)

“T
hese pancakes are amazing, Mr. Coleman,” Laney said, smoothing butter and drizzling syrup on the two additional pancakes—oozing with plump blueberries—he’d just slid onto her plate.

“I hope you made enough to feed a village, Dad,” Micah teased, coming in the kitchen, “because that’s how much Laney can eat.”

“She’s already on her fourth,” Noah reported with his mouth full.

“You’re keeping track?” Laney asked in surprise.

“Yup,” Noah replied with a grin.

“Laney,” Maddie said, leaning across the table, “you don’t have to put up with their abuse—just kick ’em under the table.”

Laney smiled, and at the same moment, two muzzles nudged under her arms, nosing her plate and trying to sneak furtive licks.

“Hey!” Asa admonished. The two Labs pulled their heads out from under Laney’s arms and gazed at him innocently.
“Do you mean me?”

“Yes—you!” Asa said in an exasperated voice. “You’d think you hadn’t eaten in a week!”

“C’mere,” Maddie said, motioning to them. “I’m sorry, Laney. Please forgive them. They’re both spoiled rotten beggars.”

“Nice,” Noah said with a hint of sarcasm as he shook his head. “You want her to
forgive
them, but
kick
us.”

Maddie just laughed and took a sip of her coffee.

After the breakfast dishes were washed and dried, Noah rolled his mountain bike out into the driveway and lifted Laney’s ten-speed off the back of her car, checked their tires, filled two water bottles, strapped beach towels onto the back of his bike, and told his mom they wouldn’t be back until late afternoon.

It was another beautiful, blue sky August day, and as they rode down Ocean View Drive—a bumpy, weathered road whose view of the ocean had long been obscured by the gnarled pitch pine and scrub oak that thrived on the sandy, windswept peninsula—Laney took her hands off her handlebars and threw her arms up in the air. “Woo-hoooo!” she sang, sailing past Noah.

Surprised and laughing, he sped up. “Excuse me, miss, but you’re not practicing proper bike safety.”

“Oh, don’t be an old poop. . . .”

“I’m not an old poop,” he protested, tentatively letting go of his handlebars.

She looked over at him and grinned. “Now, give those underarms some air.”

Noah made sure he had his balance and slowly lifted his arms.

“Now shout, ‘Woo-hoooo!’ ” she commanded, bumping down the weatherworn road.

“Woo-hoooo!” he called, laughing and feeling more alive than he’d felt in a long time.

As they came around the corner, he grabbed his handlebars and shouted, “Watch out for the sand!” Laney grabbed her handlebars too and skidded onto the roadway that led to the Coast Guard Beach.

Noah stood on his pedals as they climbed the hill and then cut across the sidewalk to a path that ran beside the Coast Guard station. He slowed down and stopped, putting his foot on the bottom rail of a weathered split rail fence for balance, and Laney pulled up beside him. “Wow . . . it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed breathlessly, gazing at the gorgeous, panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean.

Noah watched the tide lapping along the long sandbars and nodded. “I love it here.” After a moment, he pointed down the dunes. “There used to be a house down there.” Laney looked and he continued. “It was built in 1926 by a man named Henry Beston. He lived there for a year or so and wrote about his experience—sort of like Thoreau’s
Walden
. A couple of times, Micah and I stopped to look inside. It was a great little house. It had a woodstove, a water pump, a bed, a desk . . .”

“What happened to it?”

“It was swept away in the blizzard of ’78.”

Laney nodded. “I remember that storm—I was a senior in high school. Maine wasn’t hit as hard as southern New England, but I’ll never forget seeing the pictures of the deep snow and the devastation.”

Noah nodded. “The erosion was so bad this parking lot washed away too, and sometimes, chunks of asphalt still wash up on shore.”

Laney shook her head. “That’s amazing.” She looked around. “Where do people park now?”

“There’s a parking lot down the road and a tram that shuttles beachgoers.” He pointed to a small white vehicle that was just pulling in, towing a train of open-air cars with bench seats. The tram stopped, and a throng of people climbed out, wearing bathing suits and sunglasses and carrying umbrellas, beach bags, towels, coolers, Boogie Boards—everything needed for a day at the beach.

“Why wouldn’t you just go to a beach that has a parking lot?”

“Because the Coast Guard Beach is the best.... Besides, the tram is fun, and it drops you off right here.”

Laney nodded, suddenly wishing they were spending the day at the beach—the ocean looked so inviting.

As if he was reading her mind, Noah said, “We’ll go for a swim on our way back.”

“Sounds good,” she said with a smile.

They got back on their bikes, crossed the driveway, entered the bike path, and sped down a winding, narrow hill to the long, wooden bridge that crossed Nauset Marsh. The tide was out, and the air was heavy with the thick, briny scent of decay and muck. Noah looked back and pinched his nose, and Laney laughed—she didn’t mind the smell. In fact, she loved it! She glanced down at the long marsh grass, swaying in the warm summer sun, and she imagined the plethora of wonderful organisms living in the boggy quagmire—just waiting to be studied.

They followed the hilly terrain out to Route 6 and across the quiet side roads to the rail trail—an old railroad bed that was being converted into a paved path for cyclists, walkers, and runners. Noah cruised along through the shade and sun with his T-shirt billowing around him, and as they passed through Nickerson Park, Laney realized she enjoyed having him in front of her so she could watch his long, muscular legs, his broad shoulders, and the way his short sun-bleached hair cut across his tan neck—she was so busy watching him, in fact, that when he slowed down unexpectedly, she almost rode into him.

“Whoa!” she said in surprise, bumping off the trail and squeaking to a stop. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, frowning, “but that was poor use of proper bike signaling!”

“Sorry,” he said meekly. “I didn’t realize you were that close. Anyway, there’s a really good place for lunch just ahead. Are you hungry?”

“That’s a silly question,” she teased, still frowning. “According to you and Micah, my appetite is insatiable.”

He grinned. “You know we were just teasing.”

“I know,” she said with a forgiving smile.

After a lunch of burgers, fries, and milk shakes at Cobie’s, they headed back to the Coast Guard Beach for a swim. As their bicycle tires bumped back across the wooden footbridge, Laney looked down; the tide was coming in, and the marsh grass was now swaying under the gentle current of gray-green water. They climbed the hill, parked their bikes, and while Noah unstrapped the towels, Laney watched the weary line of sunburned people waiting to catch the tram back to their cars. Two little boys were chasing each other and giggling, and although their dad—with the patience of a saint—was trying to reel them in, his arms were full of the toddler his wife had handed to him before hurrying off to the ladies’ room. The two little boys, brown and sandy—and sensing their dad’s disadvantage—continued to chase each other until the younger one tripped and fell, scraping both knees. He let out a howl that would put wolves to shame, and his mom returned just in time to scoop him up; the tired little fellow wiped away his tears with a sandy fist, realized everyone was watching him, and shyly buried his face in her neck.

“Boys!” Noah said with a grin.

Laney shook her head and laughed. “Yep. Boys are trouble!”

“Y
ou have such a great family,” Laney said as they walked down the steep wooden steps to the beach. “Your uncle Isaac is so funny, your parents are wonderful, and their friends definitely know how to have a good time.”

“Yeah, they’re a fun group—they’ve been getting together for years. My
great
-grandfather was the one who started the whole gin and chowder thing, but it was my grandfather and his best friend, Nate Shepherd, who really got it going. Legend has it that they used to have some pretty wild parties and invite all the neighbors—and all the kids would come along and have a bonfire down on the beach, and now those kids are the friends who are here tonight.” He smiled and shook his head. “My grandparents were very old school—cocktails at five, Big Band on the radio, getting dressed to the nines for dinner—but no white dresses or slacks before Memorial Day or after Labor Day. It was very ladi-da,” he added wistfully. “But, I guess, after my grandfather died, the gatherings fell apart . . . that is, until my uncle Isaac convinced my dad they should start them up again.”

“Well, it’s a wonderful tradition.”

They continued to walk along Nauset Light Beach under the moonlight, watching the beam from the lighthouse skim across the clouds. A rogue wave rushed up the beach, and Laney had to scoot around Noah to avoid getting wet. Laughing, she said, “When I was little, I always thought the foam along the edge of a wave looked like the bubbles on the edge of pancake batter when it’s poured on the griddle.”

Noah laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

She bumped him playfully, and he smiled, but then grew quiet.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

He stopped walking and searched her face. “Laney, I don’t want there to be any secrets between us. I don’t want you to ever ask me why I didn’t tell you something.”

“Okay,” she said tentatively.

They continued to walk along in silence, and finally, Noah said, “Remember the other night when we were talking about how young my dad was when I was born?”

She nodded, studying his profile.

“Well . . .” He paused, struggling to find the right words.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I do though . . . because it’s part of me, and if we’re going to keep seeing each other—which I hope we are . . . I mean I hope you want to.”

“I do want to.”

“Okay, well then it’s something you should know because I have this thing about being completely honest and forthcoming, no matter what the outcome . . . and this is due, in large part, to my dad taking a very long time to answer questions I’d been asking him since I was little. In fact, he didn’t answer everything until I turned sixteen.”

Laney nodded, and Noah looked over and smiled. “Well, first I should tell you how incredibly blessed I am to have the family I have. My mom—Maddie—is the best mom on earth, and I know she loves me with all her heart. In fact, I don’t think anyone outside the family would even guess she’s not my real mom.”

Laney looked up in surprise, and Noah’s eyes glistened. “My biological mom’s name was Noelle—she died in childbirth . . . having me.”

“Oh, Noah, I’m so sorry.”

He nodded. “More than anything, I wish I’d had the chance to meet her. My dad gave me a photograph of the two of them—it was actually taken at a gin and chowder party,” he added. “She was beautiful. Long dark hair—a little longer than yours—dark blue eyes, and young . . . but older than my dad.” He paused. “This is one of the biggest questions I had. I knew Maddie wasn’t my real mom, but I desperately wanted to know more about the woman who was. And my dad would only say that she died. But, come to find out”—he paused—“she was married.” Laney raised her eyebrows, and in the moonlight, she could see the solemn look on Noah’s face. “And she wasn’t married to just anyone—she was married to my grandfather’s best friend.”

“No,” Laney whispered softly. “How in the world . . . ?”

Noah shook his head, as if he had trouble believing it too. “My real mom was a nurse, and she took care of Nate’s first wife, Anna, when she was dying of cancer, so my dad had known her almost all his life. After Anna died, Noelle’s job ended, and she went on to take care of someone else, but a year or so later, she and Nate ran into each other, and even though Nate was eighteen years her senior, they fell in love, and married . . . and although my grandparents, Samuel and Sarah, missed Anna, they welcomed Noelle into their lives.

“By the time Nate remarried, my dad was a teenager, and whenever Nate and Noelle came over socially, she was always friendly—always genuinely interested in what was going on in his life and my uncle Isaac’s . . . and always teasing them about all the girlfriends they must have . . . even though my dad didn’t have any. She was beautiful, thirteen years older than my dad . . . and he thought she hung the moon.

“Then, the summer before my dad went away to college, Nate hired him to paint their house in Orleans, and since Nate worked in Boston, Noelle was often home alone. My dad and Noelle became very close—they talked about everything—even the growing attraction they felt, but Noelle told my dad she could never betray Nate . . . and she didn’t . . . until a rainy afternoon toward the end of the summer.” Noah shook his head. “My dad said they never meant for anything to happen—it just did—and afterward, they couldn’t seem to find their way back to the way things were before. He said he loved Noelle more than life itself, and he would’ve done anything for her.”

“That’s so sad,” Laney said softly. “Did anyone find out?”

“Well, the summer ended, and my dad went off to college, so he didn’t see Noelle for several weeks. But she wrote often, and he started to live for the next time he would see her. An opportunity finally came at the end of September when my dad traveled to Boston to meet Isaac, and my grandfather, and Nate for a Red Sox game. While they were at the game, my dad overheard Nate tell my grandfather that Noelle was out on the Cape alone.”

“Noo . . .” Laney whispered with raised eyebrows.

“Yup. After the game, instead of taking the bus back to school, he took the bus to Hyannis and hitchhiked the rest of the way to Orleans. He spent the night with her, and the next day she drove him back to the bus station in Boston. No one ever found out—as far as he knows—and then he didn’t see her again until Christmas. And it was on Christmas, in front of everyone, that Nate announced that he and Noelle were expecting. My dad was devastated and jealous . . . it was as if he’d made himself believe she didn’t sleep with Nate . . . and this proved she did.”

“But how did Noelle know who . . . ?”

Noah shook his head. “I asked my dad the same question, and he said it never occurred to him that he could be the father. And after Nate made the announcement, he just assumed their relationship was over. He was jealous, angry, heartbroken, and confused. Noelle tried to reach out to him, but he wouldn’t listen. She wrote to him . . . but he just put her letters in a box and never opened them.”

“That’s awful.”

Noah nodded. “Just before I was born, she tried, once more, to get in touch with him. He didn’t want to see her, so he’d stayed in New Hampshire for the summer. She knew he was working part-time at a library in Hanover, and she took a bus all the way up there to find him. My dad wasn’t at the library, though, and later, he realized he must’ve just missed her. Anyway, by the time Noelle got back to Boston, she was in full labor, and when she got off the bus, she collapsed. Passersby called an ambulance and stayed with her until it came. Nate saw her for the last time as she was rushed into surgery.”

“That is so tragic,” Laney said softly.

Noah nodded. “My dad thinks Nate knew all along, but never said anything . . . and since my dad was still in college when I was born, Nate raised me as if I were his.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, one morning, on his way to work after dropping me off at school, Nate had a heart attack. I was seven.”

Laney shook her head in disbelief, tears stinging her eyes. “Oh, my goodness, that’s so sad. Then . . . how did your dad find out?”

“Well,” Noah continued, “my grandfather was the executor of Nate’s estate, and when he was going through his papers, he found a letter Noelle had written to my dad while she was waiting for him that day in the library. It said she would always love him . . . and that he was the father.”

“Oh, dear!”

“I know! Talk about grounds for disinheriting someone. But my dad thinks my grandparents already knew by then because I looked exactly like he did when he was little.”

Laney shook her head. “You
do
look like him! In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were brothers!” She paused. “So then, your dad, out of the blue, discovers he’s the father of a seven-year-old boy—that must’ve been a pretty big shock.”

“Well, if it was, he never let on, but my heart was broken. I loved Nate. He was my dad, and I couldn’t understand how I had two dads. But my real dad—who was around twenty-six at the time—did everything he could to help me through it. We went fishing, hiking, played endless games of catch . . . and the following Christmas, my grandparents gave us a puppy . . . and that really helped. He was a little black Lab, and I named him Coal. Nate also left his beach house in Orleans to me . . . and that’s how I came to have a house out here too . . . although, right now, it’s closed up.”

“That’s quite a story.”

“I know—it would make a great movie.”

“It would!”

They were both quiet for a while, and finally Laney looked up. “So when did your dad meet Maddie?”

“He met her the summer I was born—1961. She was doing research at the library where he worked, and they became friends. When my dad returned to New Hampshire after Noelle’s funeral, she knew something had happened, and she was there for him. But it wasn’t until I came into his life, seven years later, that he realized how much she meant to him.” He paused and smiled. “Maddie, on the other hand, says she loved my dad from the moment she saw him.”

“What happened to your grandparents?”

“My grandfather died a couple of years later, and my grandmother soon after; my dad thinks my grandmother died of a broken heart.”

“That happens sometimes when a spouse can’t seem to find a way to go on without their one true love. I bet when one of my grandparents dies, the other one won’t last either. They still act like a couple of teenagers!”

“And how do a couple of teenagers act?” Noah asked, reaching for her hand. Laney looked up, and Noah stopped walking. “Or a couple of twentysomethings?” he added.

“Well,” she said softly, “sometimes they put their arms around each other . . .”

“Like this?” he asked, slipping his hands around her waist.

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, smelling the clean scent of his aftershave.

“And . . .?”

“Well, if no one’s around, they might . . . kiss,” she whispered.

“Like this?” he asked, brushing his lips lightly against hers.

“Mmm,” she murmured. He pulled her closer and pressed his lips gently against her forehead, and then slowly made his way back down her smooth cheek . . . to her neck . . . until he found her lips again.

Laney’s heart pounded, and her mind raced.
Was this the cute New England fellow her grandfather had talked about?