Summer Harbor (24 page)

Kiley moved around to the stern. The name she had hand-lettered was gone, sanded off, the bare wood spot-primed. It didn’t matter;
Blithe Spirit
was recognizable all the same.

“She’s just like the boat I’m learning to sail in.” Will pointed to the Beetle Cat bobbing on her mooring, the mid-morning sun striking sparks off the water around her.

“Why are you working on her?”

“It’s what Grainger told me to do.”

Kiley touched the fiberglass patch. When she looked away from it, she saw Grainger coming toward them. His protective mask was still in place, but his eyes above it were visible. “Hello, Grainger.”

He pulled the mask from his face, revealing a smile. “Hello, Kiley.”

Kiley was exquisitely aware of him, of his closeness, as he came to stand beside her next to the boat. “I always thought
Blithe Spirit
was destroyed on the rocks.”

“No. I always thought so too, but she wasn’t even damaged. The patch held.” Grainger ran a finger along the white seam putty, checking Will’s work.

“He simply went overboard?” Kiley moved away from Grainger to the other side of the boat.

“It would seem so, yes. He probably lost control in the wind.”

“Poor Mack.” She touched the keel gently.

For a moment all three stood in silence, ranged around the Beetle Cat as if the bottom-up hull was a coffin.

Kiley took her fingers off of the keel. “After all this time, why are you working on her now?”

Grainger leaned his weight on the hull, bringing his face close to hers, making her look at him. “I want Will to have her. As his legacy from Mack.”

Kiley took a step back. “Absolutely not. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…I’ve been thinking that he should have her.”

“I should have her?”

She hushed Will with a wave of her hand. “Why do you say that, Grainger?”

“Mack would have wanted him to.”

“Mack would?” Will looked at Grainger and then at his mother.

“Shut up, Will.” Kiley shoved her fists into her sides. “You cannot know what Mack would have wanted, Grainger. Mack is dead and that boat is the reason.”

“No, Kiley. We’re the reason.”

“Stop it!” Will kicked at the sawhorse “Stop it, both of you!” He aimed another kick at the can of seam putty, sending it clattering under one of the other boats, then stalked off. They could hear the sound of tires squealing out as he pulled onto the paved road too fast.

Kiley and Grainger faced each other over the upturned boat. This was not the reason she’d come here today. But it was one of the reasons she’d stayed away from Hawke’s Cove for so long.

“Grainger, please don’t give him this boat.”

“I need to.”

“Why? What makes you think you should?”

“Mack.” Grainger abruptly walked away. Pilot joined him as he kept walking along the brief shoreline of Maiden Cove. Kiley went after him, her sneaker prints filling his larger boot prints as she followed his path. When she caught up to him, Grainger was sitting on a short jetty, his back to her. The midday sun was bright, making his white coverall shine against the backdrop of blue water. He pitched a stick into the water and the dog launched himself off the jetty after it. Kiley climbed over the rocks and sat on a flat rock beside him.

“Why do you think Mack would want Will to have
Blithe Spirit
?”

“Because Mack is his father.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But you do.”

“No, I don’t. Why do you think I do? How could I?”

“You named him for Mack.”

Kiley ducked to avoid Pilot’s vigorous, watery shake. “He’s named for my father. Merriwell William Harris the second.”

Grainger stared out at the cove, his lips twitching in what looked like resistance to a smile. Then it released, and a self-effacing laugh erupted. “Oh. Shit. I am a fool.”

“Is that what you thought? That I’d keep it secret if I knew for sure?”

“I don’t know what to think.” He tossed the stick back toward the water; it fell short, and Pilot scrambled down the rocks to fetch it. “But I still think that Will should have her. She belonged to Mack; now she belongs to me. I guess you could say she’s from both of us. Whatever happened, she’s a beautiful little boat and needs someone to love her.”

“You speak of her like she was a woman.”

“All boats are, they say. But, no, I speak of her like a living creature, like Pilot. A creature that thrives with use.”

“He wouldn’t get much use out of her.” Kiley felt a crack in her resistance. “And I wouldn’t allow him to take her out alone.”

Grainger looked at Kiley, covering her hand as it rested on the sun-warmed rock. “I’d never let him go out alone. He’s not ready.”

“Promise me?”

Grainger lowered his face to hers and for a heartbeat she thought he was going to kiss her. “I promise,” his words tickling her cheek.

“I came here today to ask you to talk my father out of his crazy idea about being aboard
Random
when you race her.” Kiley handed Grainger the jar of mayonnaise. “He’s in ill health and can barely get from one room to the other, much less port to starboard.”

Grainger spread the mayonnaise on rye bread and settled slices of roast beef on them. “We could get him settled in the cockpit, lashed down if necessary, and let him go for the ride. It would mean so much to him to be there. How can you deny an old man his dream?”

“He talked to you, didn’t he?” Kiley took the sandwich Grainger offered and went to sit.

“Yes. He told me you’d probably try to get me to persuade him to give up the idea.”

“Cagey old man.”

“Would you want to be denied the thing you loved best as your days were waning?”

“You must think I’m a terrible cramp. I don’t want Will to sail alone, and I don’t want my father to sail with a crew.”

“No. Overprotective maybe, but not a cramp.”

Kiley threw Grainger a bitter smile. “Not much like the Blithe of your youth?”

Grainger set his sandwich down and took her face in his hands. “None of us are who we once were. We grew up.”

Again Kiley thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t; he simply looked into her eyes.

“Grainger, can we ever recapture what we had?”

He shook his head, but smiled. “I think that we need to forget about the past. Not recapture it, but get to know each other as we are now. If we like each other, maybe then we can look to the future.” He released her.

“We have so little time.”

“I’m not asking you to stay.”

“Then what are you asking me?”

“Help me with
Random
. Hang around with me a little.”

Kiley knew that she was grinning, and made no effort to hide it. “Okay.”

Every day, as soon as Will headed off to meet Catherine after work or to the beach after his sailing lesson, Kiley hopped on her bicycle with its new tires, and pedaled to meet Grainger. Will seemed oblivious to her subterfuge, never asking her where she’d been if he got home before her, only what was for dinner. If she wasn’t exactly avoiding mentioning this tentative friendship, she wasn’t going out of her way to bring it to his attention, either. She’d told Grainger that first afternoon there was no sense giving him false hope. It had come out more callous than she’d meant it, but Grainger hadn’t flinched. It was such a delicate thing, breathing new life into a relationship nearly dead of anger and neglect. As they worked each afternoon on
Random,
their conversations were topical or gossipy, or Grainger told complimentary little stories about Will’s progress. They took care not to speak of the past, as if it was of no consequence. Still, Kiley felt it lurking behind them as they laughed together at local politics or argued about the Red Sox’s chances this year.

It just felt good to be with him, a familiar happiness she’d thought long gone. Yet there was a fragility to it, like holding fine china with slippery hands. A moment’s carelessness and it was shattered.

They mustn’t expect too much, or move too fast.

But time was forging relentlessly ahead. It was almost time to go back to Southton and pick up the threads of her real life. The time that had seemed so long as its beginning was speeding toward its conclusion, and there was nothing she could do to stop its impetus. Sandy had called to tell her the memorial service for Doc John was scheduled for Monday, the day she had originally been due back at work. Any idea that they might prolong their time in Hawke’s Cove was gone.

“Kiley, hi, it’s Grainger.”

She hadn’t expected to hear his voice on the phone, and felt a frisson of pleasure that he would call. “Good morning.”

“Look, say no if it’s a bad idea, but would you be willing to help me make a boat delivery?”

“I guess I could. Where?”

“I’m bringing
Miss Emily
around to Great Harbor. Just motoring, it’ll take less than an hour.”

“No problem.” Good, she sounded casual, not as if his invitation meant anything. Nothing that could cause the pounding of her heart.

“If you’ll drive to the marina, I’ll pick you up there.”

That made sense. She’d leave her car in Great Harbor, so they’d have a way back home. “What time?”

“Now.”

It was only seven-thirty, a hot summer day just beginning. Kiley knew that Will would be in bed until noon unless he had plans. He’d scarcely notice she was gone. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

“Thanks for doing this. It’ll be fun.”

Fun.

Kiley threw sunblock and a hat into her carryall, then hunted around for the keys. Will had had them last.

She tiptoed up the stairs to his room where he slept, the keys on his dresser. Backing out of the room, she looked at her son, one long arm thrown over his eyes. In sleep he returned to the little boy in cowboy pajamas, the one who would crawl into her lap and grasp a hank of her hair, stroking it between his fingers. She smiled and left.

Grainger was already in the parking lot of the marina when she pulled in. He leaned against his truck, playing tug of war with Pilot.

“Am I late?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, I’m early.” When he opened the passenger-side door, the dog immediately jumped in, settling himself in the passenger seat. “Get in the back, Pilot.” After the dog did as he was told, Kiley got into the truck.

Grainger gestured to a styrofoam cup sitting in a cup holder. “That’s yours.”

Kiley sipped the hot black coffee. “Thanks. I was one cup short of my quota.”

As they headed back to the boatyard, they chatted of inconsequentials: the changes in Great Harbor, the ugliness of some of the new boats, the lack of tradition in the new rich. It was as if they clung to conversation like a life ring, she thought, spinning around and around, but never really making progress toward shore.

Miss Emily
was tied up against the pier. Back in the water, she looked graceful and glowing in the late July sunshine.

“She looks great. You certainly do nice work.”

“Will helped. He seems to be really getting into it.”

“He used to make models as a kid. I suppose that working on the boats is a lot like that—lots of tedious and painstaking work.”

“Lots of elbow grease.” Grainger stepped onto
Miss Emily,
then reached for Kiley’s bag.

Kiley took his hand as she stepped from dock to boat, then cast off the lines as Grainger started the inboard engine. In a few minutes they were powering away from the pier and out into the small cove, the bow pointed toward open water.

“Go take a look below if you want.” Grainger was at the wheel, his attention on the outlet. He exuded self-assurance. This was his natural place: behind the wheel of a big sailboat, eyes pointed to the horizon, capable and confident. Kiley felt an unexpected desire wash through her, and she quickly backed down the companionway into the tidy galley.

A tiny gas stove and miniature sink were built into one wall; there were narrow bunks port and starboard, and a wide sleeping space in the forepeak. The head was behind a narrow door and Kiley hoped she wouldn’t have to use it, with its complicated pedal and pump flush. Shelves and storage were cleverly tucked in every conceivable place. Kiley let herself imagine sailing away on this boat, Grainger at the helm. She must be glad of this short voyage, of this golden time. Not so long ago, Grainger had hated her.
Be grateful for this.

Kiley went back up to sit in front of Grainger, to pretend that her enjoyment was of the view and the feel of a boat on water, not simply being in his company again.

Now that
Miss Emily
was done, they were moving very quickly on
Blithe Spirit
. Will gave unflagging, uncomplaining dedication to the effort. Much of what they did was repetitive, boring stuff. Going over and over the same area with a sander or tack cloth or paintbrush is tedious at best, numbing at worst. Yet Grainger believed there was something reverential to the process, that it was a noble thing to bring life back to a boat. From the barnacle-encrusted, flaking, worm-riddled, ugly look of an old hull, to the brilliant shine of a clean hull, freshly painted, the new lines pure white, the brass untinged with green, softly shining in the sunlight. The warm maple-syrup glow of perfectly dried marine varnish.

As they floated her off the trailer into the water, Grainger saw Will’s delighted amazement at the transformation of the little boat as she ceased to be an inanimate object and became a sea creature. Free of the bonds of gravity, she bobbed happily in her element. The boy’s face showed the same joy Grainger had felt at her first resurrection. The old girl had beauty yet.

He hadn’t thought that he could ever look on this boat as benign. Had he finally moved so far away from the tragedy that the boat no longer represented anything other than herself? Or was it the slow rehabilitation of his relationship with Kiley that helped purify his associations with the boat?

Inviting Kiley to help him with the short cruise on
Miss Emily
had been an experiment of sorts. Now that he and Kiley had spent some neutral time together, Grainger had wanted to test himself. Would being on the water, alone for an uninterrupted hour, be comfortable or awkward? Would the absence of the incessant phone, and the distraction of Pilot, give them the courage to enjoy themselves?

They had. Kiley had sat at his feet as he pointed out familiar landmarks on the shore. They’d even kept comfortably silent. For a little while it was as he’d hoped, simply the present, not the past.

Kiley sat in the cockpit, her floppy-brimmed hat waving in the breeze until she removed it, her blond hair loose for a moment before she captured its thickness in a barrette. Grainger stared at the vulnerable nape of her neck, and wondered if there might yet be a future for them.

Grainger planned to take Will out in
Blithe Spirit
on Saturday, if the weather continued fair. The plan today was to step the mast, then Grainger would give Will a lesson in rigging. If time allowed, they’d bend on her sails. Years ago, when he was turning the old sail loft into a bedroom, Grainger had found the musty old sail bag with Kiley’s hand-stenciled
Blithe Spirit
still readable. Until now, he had left the sail bag in the storeroom among half a dozen others. The sails were mildewed, so he’d left them out in the sun this past week. They weren’t perfect, but serviceable. He’d find a better set for Will if he could persuade Kiley to come back for the August Races.

They were renewing their friendship, but it was like beating upwind. Their headway was slow, the seas choppy. Kiley had asked that he not say anything to Will about this, afraid that Will would want more of them than they were able to give.

“He wants so badly for us…”

“For us what?”

“I think he has some romantic vision of a fairy tale ending.”

“And you don’t?” It was like being in a beam sea, this being with her, yet not being with her.

“I gave up romanticism a long time ago.” Kiley turned away from him, reaching for a can of Brasso on the workbench.

“Will he be satisfied that we’re just friends?” Grainger took the can from her and twisted the cover off.

“I think so.” She took the open can from him and went out to the boat.

Grainger remained behind for a moment. “I’m not satisfied,” he said quietly.

Pilot cocked his head

All the time Will worked at his assigned tasks, Grainger looked hard for Mack in his movements, the angle of his arms, or the cocking of his head to examine his work. Will looked at him too. They were like two birds from the same species, looking at each other for flock recognition.

“I knew from the start she was
Blithe Spirit.”
Will said this casually.

“When did you figure it out?”

“I could tell by the fiberglass patch.” Equally casual, as if it had just occurred to him, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. I was afraid you might not want to work on her, that you might think she had bad karma.” Grainger secured the lines holding
Blithe Spirit
close to the pier so they could step the mast. “Sailors are terribly superstitious, you know.”

Together they hefted the mast and eased it into place. With the mast between them, Will looked at Grainger with Kiley’s eyes, full of hopeful expectation. “I want us to have a DNA test. Can we?”

Grainger was aware of his heart beating in a way that couldn’t be healthy. Did thirty-six-year-old active men, albeit with a hankering for red meat, die from being asked such a question? It wasn’t that he hadn’t entertained the idea himself; it was the abruptness of Will’s request. One minute they’re talking about the boat, the next, paternity. Were all dealings with youth so vertiginous?

He didn’t know how to respond. So much hinged on a simple test. The world as he knew it would no longer be the same. He believed Kiley when she said she had no idea which one of them was Will’s father. If he was Will’s father, that lent a whole new dimension to his understanding of himself. If he wasn’t, could he live with that disappointment? Equally, could Will take the disappointment?

In self-defense, Grainger had chosen to treat Will like a beloved nephew. Mack had been, for all intents and purposes, his brother; if Will was Mack’s blood, Mack lived on. Submitting to this test could deny Mack his only legacy.

Will kept his hands on the mast but his eyes on Grainger, who read in them the self-surprise in asking that question outright—the hope, the fear, the confusion.

Grainger rubbed his hand down his face, aware of the day’s bristles, his unkempt, solitary workingman appearance. Since his military and Merchant Marine days, he’d rarely thought of his appearance, shaving when he felt like it, letting his hair grow long until he couldn’t stand it, wearing worn jeans and thread-bare flannel shirts every day, his rubber boots his only footwear most of the time. He was no example of fatherhood to anyone. Most days only Pilot saw him, and his customers expected a boat mender to look as if he’d just come off a year’s single-handed sail around the world. God only knew what Kiley saw when she looked at him, just an ordinary man.

“You’re asking a lot of me, Will. You’re asking for a life-altering swab of cells. Have you thought this through?”

Will’s expectant look turned sullen, disappointed. “I don’t want anything from you. I just want to satisfy my curiosity.”

“I’m curious too, Will. But maybe I’m a little more afraid.”

“Of what? I told you, I wouldn’t want child support or anything. This would be just between you and me. Mom doesn’t even have to know.”

“I’m not worried about your motive. I’m worried about the emotional outcome of knowing.”

Will nodded. “I’ve thought of that too.”

The slight acquiesence relieved Grainger. “Let’s give it some time. If you still want to do it in, say, December, call me and we’ll get it done. We’ve only known each other for less than three weeks. I think we both need to step back.”

“I don’t think I’ll change my mind.”

“Fair enough, and I won’t break my promise.” Grainger handed Will coils of rope, then hefted the sail bag from the pier into the boat. He looked at the western sky, an orangey red, smudgy fair-weather clouds streaking it. “I think we can get the rigging and the sails on before dark. Then she’ll be ready to sail.”

Will was quiet, taking orders without comment. The tense look of disappointment began to fade, and he even smiled a little as they finally hoisted the sail in a smooth test.

“Are you really going to give
Blithe Spirit
to me?”

Grainger handed Will several lashings to tie the lowered sail to the boom. “If it’s all right with your mother. Which I think it is.”

“Cool. Awesome. When can I take her out?”

“We can go out Saturday if the weather holds.”

“No, when can
I
take her out? I want to take Catherine for a sail.”

“Will, I’ve already told you, you’re not ready.”

“That’s so not true. I’m good at it; you’ve said so yourself.”

“Being good and being experienced isn’t the same thing, especially to take out a passenger. If you want, she can come with us. Okay?” Grainger tied off the last of the lashings and climbed onto the wooden pier. “Make sure that bowline isn’t too short. There’s a moon tide tonight; we don’t want to hang her.”

“Come on, Grainger. A little sail around this cove isn’t dangerous. What do you say?” Will’s voice, sweetly persuasive, made Grainger appreciate what Kiley had lived through. Debating a teenager was wearing.

“Will, the answer is no.” He didn’t have time to go into all the dangers of inexperience on the water. “Maybe I should rethink this.”

Will snorted a little exhalation of disgust. “You sound like a father—and guess what? I’ve never needed a father, and I certainly don’t need you.” He pulled himself onto the pier and past Grainger.

Grainger made no move to follow him.
Let him blow off steam.
He didn’t blame the kid for being a little angry; he’d had a hell of a couple of weeks. He’d cool off.

Had he really sounded like a father? Had he sounded like Rollie, impatient and accusatory? Grainger called him back, but Will kept going.