Nantucket (3 page)

L
iam tossed the last bite of his breakfast sandwich to Tuck, who snatched it from the air with the dexterity of an NFL receiver. Then he wiped his hands on his jeans, carefully tore the ad out of the newspaper, and tacked it to the shelf above the workbench. The opening for Levi Knox's art show was Sunday!

“Hey, stranger,” a voice bellowed and Liam looked up. Tuck pulled himself off the floor and hurried over to greet the newcomer.

A smile spread across Liam's face. “Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head. “If it isn't Jack Regan, legendary leader of Hell's Kitchen platoon!” The two old friends hugged and slapped each other on the back.

“Who's this big fella?” Jack asked, kneeling down.

“That's Tucket—my fearless watchdog.”

Jack laughed. “We have a golden too. His name's Boomer, and about the only thing he'd be good at is
watching
while the robbers clean out the house.”

“Yep,” Liam said with a nod. “That's what Tuck would do too.” He watched as his friend rubbed the big dog's ears. “So what brings you out here?”

“The little missus, of course,” Jack said with a grin.

“How
is
Tracey?”

“Oh, she's fine . . . fine.”

Liam shook his head again. “I can't believe you're here.”

“I can't either,” Jack said, standing. “How the hell've ya been?”

Liam smiled. “Oh, you know, same old shit.”

Jack looked around. “This place hasn't changed.” He turned back. “I was real sorry to hear 'bout Coop.”

Liam nodded. “Thanks. It may
look
the same, but it's definitely not.”

Jack nodded. “I hear ya. My ole man passed last year and life just isn't the same . . . and we weren't even close like you and Coop.”

“So Tracey dragged you out here?”

“Yeah, but she didn't have to drag too hard cuz I knew I'd see you.” He paused. “It's been too long.”

Liam nodded. “It has.”

“On the way over I was trying to remember the last time—it had to be '96 or '7.”

“Our tour ended in '94, so that must be about right, but it wasn't the last time we saw each other. I
did
come to your wedding.”

“Yeah,” Jack teased, “you came all the way to Chatham.”

Liam laughed. “It was a stretch . . . but it's not every day you get asked to be someone's best man. How long ago was that?”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. “Let's see,” he said, trying to remember how long he'd been married. “Fourteen years?”

Liam gave a low whistle. “Fourteen! Where'd the time go?”

“I don't know, but it's your fault—we've invited you to Vermont countless times, but you refuse to leave this damn island.”

“I know. I know. What can I say? Burlington's a little far.”

“Yeah, but it's a great college town with lots of beautiful women.”

Liam raised his eyebrows. “You're not supposed to be looking.”

“I know, I know, but sometimes a fella can't help it.” He laughed amiably. “So, are you seeing anyone . . . or are you still Nantucket's most eligible bachelor?”

Liam shook his head. “Nah.”

“Holy crap, Li, don't tell me you're still hung up on . . . on . . . what was her name?”

“No, no,” Liam contended, looking away. “I just haven't met anyone.”

“You can't meet anyone if you don't try,” Jack said, eying him. “And you can't fool me either. I'm the one who propped you up after she swept in here, stole your innocence, and kicked you to the curb . . . but, geez, that was, like, thirty years ago, man. You need to move on.”

Liam chuckled. As if that was possible. “How long are you here?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Just the weekend. I've gotta head to L.A. on business tomorrow night and we're going to an art show tomorrow, so I came by to see if you wanted to meet us for dinner. I tried to call, but there was no answer . . .
or
answering machine. Do you have a cell phone?”

“A what?” Liam asked, looking puzzled.

“Oh, man,” Jack said, “are you ever gonna engage in this world?”

“I
am
engaged,” Liam protested. “I've got my business, my dog . . . I even have a cat.”

Jack shook his head. “How about a computer or an e-mail address?”

Liam gave him the same bewildered look.

“You're hopeless, ya know that?”

“I know,” Liam agreed with a grin.

“Well, back to dinner—we were thinking of The Brotherhood.”

“That'd be great, but it's not the same place, you know. They had a fire and now it's under new ownership.... It's fancier, and I actually don't know if they'd let you in,” he teased.

Jack grinned. “Well, they'll let Tracey in, and I'll just sneak in behind her.”

Liam laughed. “Sounds like a plan. What time?”

“Seven?”

“Seven it is.”

“All right, well, I gotta get back—Trace wants to take the kids to the beach.”

“Where're you staying?”

“With friends—they have a place out here.” He paused, knowing Liam too well. “They're going to be at dinner too . . . I hope that's all right.”

“Of course,” Liam lied, suddenly wishing he'd declined Jack's invitation—he'd been looking forward to an intimate dinner with old friends, but the unexpected inclusion of strangers changed everything.

“All right. We'll see you later, then.”

“Looking forward to it,” Liam said, tousling Tuck's ears. He waved as Jack pulled away, and then knelt down and pressed his cheek against Tuck's soft brow. “Oh, well, at least we can put off food shopping for another day,” he murmured as Tuck licked his cheek.

He walked back into the boathouse, and although the big golden started to follow, he only made it as far as the doors before he stopped and lay down on the sunny pavement. “Sure,” Liam teased, “now that breakfast is over, you're not interested in hangin' with me.” Tuck looked up, thumped his tail, and then closed his eyes. Liam shook his head, took a sip of his coffee, and ran his hand over the deck of the runabout.

Three hours later, after polishing the mahogany surface to a warm glow, he walked over to the boathouse doors and pushed a worn metal button on the wall. There was a familiar click of an electrical connection, and a second later, the ancient winch housed under the heavy metal panel in the floor creaked to life and a cable began to creep along the floor, unwinding from a large spool that was also under the panel. Liam pushed the boat, nestled on an old rail-guided marine trolley, out into the sunshine until the cable—straining under the weight of the boat—became taut, and the trolley edged toward the water. When the runabout finally floated free, Liam pushed the bottom button and the winch creaked to a stop.

“Want to go for a ride?” he asked as he walked past his slumbering pup to secure the boat. Tuck sat up, sleepily swishing his tail across the pavement. “C'mon, then,” he said, and the big dog pulled himself up, waddled stiffly down to the dock, and waited to be lifted in.

Moments later, after adjusting the engine, Liam backed slowly away from the dock and masterfully spun the boat around. Tuck's muscles tensed as he leaned against the side, his nostrils quivering, and gradually, Liam pushed the throttle forward, picking up speed until Tuck's fur was sparkling with ocean spray.

It had been years—twenty-six, to be exact,
not
thirty like Jack had said—since Liam had taken a ride out to Tuckernuck Island, but as he drew near, he realized it hadn't changed at all. When he cut the engine and drifted along a secluded stretch of beach, Tuck looked over at him questioningly. “It's okay, pal,” he said. The waves lapped gently against the side of the boat, and as he rested his hand on Tuck's head, he gazed at the sandy shoreline and listened to the wind rustle the long, swaying grass, whispering of a summer long ago.

 

“H
ey, Liam Tate!” a voice called out as Liam ran along Madaket Road. He glanced over his shoulder as two girls sped past him on bikes, waving. He waved back, wondering who they were, and when he rounded the next corner, he realized they'd pulled over.

He glanced down at his body, slick with sweat, and suddenly wished he hadn't thrown his shirt into the bushes five miles back. “Hey,” he said, leaning over to catch his breath.

“I didn't know you were a runner,” Cadie said, admiringly.

Liam nodded, wiping his dripping brow with his arm.

The other girl, who was also blond and pretty, cleared her throat.

“This is Tess,” Cadie said, remembering her friend. “She's on vacation too.”

Liam nodded, feeling even more self-conscious.

“We're headed down to the beach for a swim,” Tess ventured. “Wanna come?”

Liam shook his head. “No, thanks,” and then saw disappointment on Cadie's face.

Tess climbed back on her bike and started to ride away, but Cadie lingered. “I guess I'll see you around, then,” she said, stepping on her pedal.

“Wait,” Liam said softly, and she looked back questioningly.

“Want to go for a boat ride tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Should I invite Tess?” she asked, nodding up the road to where her friend was waiting.

Liam hesitated and then shook his head. “Naw . . . just us,” he said softly.

“Okay, what time?”

He shrugged. “Early?”

She nodded, suppressing a grin, and then spun her wheels in the sand as she hurried to catch up with her friend. She turned back and waved, and Liam waved back.

When he finally got back to the house, Coop was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chili. Liam wiped his face with his shirt and turned on the tap, and while he waited for the water to get cold, he eyed the glass in his uncle's hand. “I thought you were stickin' to beer.”

“How was yer run?” Coop asked, ignoring him.

“Fine,” Liam answered, shaking his head. “Do I have time for a shower?”

“Yep, jus' lettin' 'er simmer.”

Liam disappeared down the hall, turned the shower on, stripped off his running shorts, and climbed in. “Damn it, Coop,” he muttered, letting the cool water rush over his head and shoulders. “Can't you stick to it for once?”

When Liam had first come to live with his uncle, he'd slowly realized that he acted differently when he had a glass of “Ole No. 7”—as he liked to call it—in his hand. If he'd had a beer or two, he was fine, but if he was drinking the more potent amber whiskey, it was just a matter of time before his mood started to deteriorate. On nights like that, Liam had cleared their plates and watched as his uncle had buried his anguished face in his hands. It frightened Liam to see him acting so strangely and one time, he'd even hidden all the whiskey bottles he could find under his bed so that that Coop would stop drinking, but instead, his uncle had torn the house apart looking for them and then driven to the store—leaving his seven-year-old nephew home alone—to buy more.

Liam hadn't understood the effect alcohol had on people; he only vaguely remembered his parents drinking—they'd had a glass of wine with dinner, or his dad, a beer at a cookout, but they'd never acted the way Coop did. Coop started off with one drink, but never stopped there, and as Liam grew older, he realized drinking made his uncle remember the things he was trying to forget. It was a vicious cycle his mind played on him—he drank to forget the memories of war that drinking dredged to the surface.

Liam turned off the water, toweled dry, pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and with his hair still damp, went downstairs. “Smells good,” he said, reaching for a bowl. He filled it, sprinkled shredded cheddar on top, plopped sour cream on top of that, poured a large glass of milk, and peered under a foil-covered baking pan that was on the counter. “You made cornbread?!”

Coop smiled as Liam cut a huge hunk of the golden bread and sat down hungrily. “You're the best, Coop!” he said, and he meant it. In spite of his uncle's shortcomings, he knew his uncle loved him with all his heart . . . and that was all that mattered.

“Soo . . . is it all right if I take tomorrow off?” Liam ventured, knowing Coop would say yes.

Coop filled a second bowl, piled cheddar and sour cream on top of it, shoed Tom, their old tomcat, off his chair, set a frosty beer on the table, and sat down. “What the hell for?”

“I'm taking the boat out.”

“You're gonna let'er get wet?” Coop teased.

Liam grinned, took a long drink, and with a milk moustache, answered, “Yup.”

“Must be a special occasion,” Coop mused. “Who ya takin'?”

“Nobody.”

“Ha! You expectin' me to believe yer takin' yer baby out on her maiden voyage by yerself?”

“It's not her maiden voyage. I took
you
out.”

“Yeah, all the way to the first buoy and back.”

“We went farther than that,” Liam protested.

“Is it Christie?”

Liam shook his head and realized he wasn't going to get away without telling Coop who he was taking. “Cadie,” he said casually, dipping his cornbread in his chili.

“Katie?” Cooper asked, looking puzzled as he tried to remember the girls in Liam's class. “Katie Benson?”

“Not
Katie
. . . Cadie . . . with a
C
. . . and a
d.
”

Cooper took a long swig of his beer and leaned back in his chair, still puzzled.

“Cadie Knox—she stopped by the boathouse with her father last week.”

“You mean the rich girl?” Coop sputtered.

Liam nodded, bracing for a lecture. “She's not what you think. She's different.”

Coop rolled his eyes. “Geez, Li, what'd I tell ya? Yer jus' asking fer trouble.”

“How do you know that?” Liam asked defensively.

“Cuz even if she takes a shine to ya, her father'll put an end to it like he's stompin' on a bug. I hate to break it to ya, pal, but you come from plain, ole, blue-collar, workin'-class stock . . . and her parents ain't never gonna let her get mixed up with that.”

“Why? We have plenty of money, and this house is worth a half a million at least . . . probably more. I've seen the real-estate magazines. I know what beachfront property goes for on Nantucket.”

“It doesn't matter, Li. We're not the type a people
they
associate with . . . and there's nothin' that's ever gonna change that.”

Liam shook his head. “I'll take my chances.”

Coop chuckled. “Well, don't say I didn't warn ya.”

Liam finished his chili in silence, devoured a second bowl, and then, as was their routine—Coop cooking, him cleaning up—washed the dishes, all the while stewing over his uncle's callous response to his interest in Cadie.