Family Trees (3 page)

C
HAPTER
3

S
eeing that the ferry was already full and preparing for departure, Shelby raced down between the two lines of cars waiting for the next ferry, and then hurried up the boarding ramp and onto the boat. As expected, Nicole “Nic” Simone was waiting for her.

“Cutting it close this morning?” Nic commented as Shelby joined her on the ferry deck.

“I know! I got a bit sidetracked,” Shelby said, catching her breath and setting her bag down at her feet. She turned her head to glance back toward shore, but Benjamin and his father were gone.

“I'd say,” Nic mumbled with a raised eyebrow. She followed Shelby's gaze. “Looking for someone?”

“Hmm? Oh, I just saw Benjamin. He was with his dad.”

“I saw them, too. Anyone else?”

“No.” Shelby's attention turned to the crewman who was loosening the ferry's stern lines.

“Really.” Nic ran her hands through her bottle-blond, pixie-cut hair. What she lacked in stature, she made up for in estrogen-fueled bravado. Nic could talk down the mangiest character with just a few well-honed words. While most people did their best to stay on Nic's good side, Shelby saw something special in her from the day they met in the eighth grade. Shelby broke through Nic's rough façade and appealed to the softer side of her personality, which surprised no one more than Nic herself. In return, Nic gave Shelby a shot of spontaneity during the most unlikely moments.

Shelby shrugged her shoulders. “Come on, we're shoving off.” She took a few steps away from the boarding ramp, with Nic in tow.

“Then I guess you don't know anything about that tall guy who was standing in the doorway? The one who watched you run all the way over here?” Nic challenged, gesturing toward West Bay Outfitters with a tilt of her head and raised eyebrows.

“Who?” Shelby watched the crewman work the hydraulics to haul up the stern ramp.

“Are you serious?” Nic exhaled with impatience before taking hold of Shelby's shoulder to get her full attention. “Good God. You really don't know.”

“You mean the guys at John's shop?”

“You tell me.”

Shelby shrugged out of Nic's hold to allow a family of four to emerge from their car and shuffle toward the topside viewing deck. “I ran into some tourists when I was leaving. I mean
literally
. Slammed right into them.” She pointed to one of the crewmen, who appeared to be having difficulty untangling the last bowline. “Nic, maybe you should go help that guy.”

“Nah, he'll get it soon enough.” Having worked on the Madeline Island Ferry Line since high school, Nic handled herself on ferries better than most men three times her size. “I love you, Shel, but sometimes you really don't have a clue. It's okay to flirt back once in a while. To accept a little attention. Hell, to even
notice
the attention would be a step in the right direction.” She cupped her hands and yelled out to whomever was in earshot, “Hey—who here thinks my friend is gorgeous?” Shelby cringed upon hearing a few meager whoops and whistles coming out of a rusted-out van with open windows. Pitiful.

“I don't know what you think you saw. Really. It was nothing.” The man at West Bay Outfitters was a tourist. Another guy passing through town. Someone like that was the very last thing she needed. She had seen it far too many times. Visitor who spent short vacations or extended summer stays in town, sparking summer romances that burned out by autumn. Or, in the case of her mother, Jackie, a brief encounter that resulted in pregnancy. When her mother's future skidded to a catastrophic stop, just weeks into her freshman year at a California college, Shelby's life was forming. From the moment of Shelby's birth, though she had played no part in sealing her mother's fate, Jackie mothered her daughter with a resentful heart and regarded her as little more than a reminder of her sordid mistake.

The idea of catching a tourist's eye? Shelby would have no part in it. If Nic was right, then he'd set his sights on the wrong local.

The ferry's engine powered up, churning water into a powerful boil beneath the hull. Shelby could feel the vibration beneath her feet. The sound intensified as sturdy metal chains clanked and lifted the stern lift gate. The crewman, recognizable in his casual khaki pants and blue Madeline Island Ferry Line shirt, returned to set the gate locks. “Morning, Nic!” he called over.

“Hey, Derrick! You on all day?”

“Yep. The
Island Queen
today.
Nichevo
tomorrow. You?” He joined the women, the ferry now in motion.

“I'm off for a few days,” Nic replied. “Remember Shelby?”

He wiped his hands on the sides of his khaki pants and then, as if unaware of what to do with them, crossed his arms awkwardly across his chest. “Yea, of course—hey, Shelby!”

“Hey.” Shelby smiled back, noticing a smudge of ketchup on the collar of his short-sleeved, blue uniform.

Derrick then returned his attention to Nic, rocking back and forth on his heels as the ferry forged effortlessly into open water. “So, when are you gonna take me up on my offer to grab a beer?”

“Listen, Romeo, you know that won't happen anytime soon.”

“Still with Hank?”

“Still with Hank,” Nic confirmed.

He turned to Shelby with a boyish grin. “So, Shelby, how 'bout you? You wanna grab a beer one of these nights?”

“You'll get nowhere fast with this one. She doesn't get out much,” Nic teased.

Despite the truth in Nic's statement, Shelby still felt its sting. “Ignore this one, Derrick, you're better off without her,” Shelby countered. “It was good to see you.”

“You, too.” He left to collect passenger tickets.

“Catch'ya later!” Nic called out. Derrick waved his hand over his head before ducking down to the passenger window of a silver sedan.

Shelby turned to look out upon the lake. Watching bubbles of white water churn behind the ferry, her thoughts flowed back to her encounter with Benjamin before boarding the ferry. The way the child's eyes squinted when he smiled. The faint peppering of freckles that crossed over the bridge of his round nose. Blond hair as fine and wispy as dandelion fluff. A contagious, wonderful laugh. Benjamin's resemblance to his uncle Jeff was undeniable—and a bittersweet reminder of what she and his family had lost.

“Coming?” Nic motioned for Shelby to follow. They wove through the parked cars before climbing an iron stairway, as narrow and steep as a ladder, which led to the outdoor upper deck. Each step rang out with a metallic clang.

Shelby found an open seat on one of the paint-chipped red benches near the back of the deck, while Nic ducked into the wheelhouse, as she always did, to greet the captain. Shelby didn't mind. With the
Island Queen
running at top speed, she settled in for a quiet twenty-minute ride across the bay to La Pointe.

Shelby enjoyed the sun's warmth on her face, cooled by the wind that blew across the lake. She watched a regatta in the distance that was racing parallel to the ferry route. While the boats looked serene and graceful, she knew the level of energy aboard them was highly charged. The race was surely exhilarating, with clamorous commands to adjust the mainsails and tighten the jibs, waves crashing against the bows of the speeding vessels, and wind slapping against the billowing sails every time they came about.

But here, from her perch atop the ferry, it looked like a watercolor painting in motion. Bold strokes of color darted across the blue canvas. A feathering of mist that hovered just above the water's surface softened the edges of the landscape. She became lost in it. The lake had a way of taking away her worries. Concerns about the orchard and her grandparents' ability to continue managing it as they aged. The suppressed resentment she felt for her mother. Her enduring grief over Jeff. And perhaps most of all, her inner compass that had lost its direction. The arrow kept spinning between a decision to stay in Bayfield out of family loyalty—or to branch out on her own.

As the regatta moved on, Shelby imagined herself racing away with the sails, the wind, and the spray, and never looking back.

 

The
Island Queen
was barely secured to the ferry dock in La Pointe's harbor when Nic grabbed Shelby's hand and pulled her to her feet. “Oh yeah, it's the weekend, baby!” she cheered, rousing her into a livelier mood.

As Shelby made her way down the stairs to the ferry dock, she looked up and noticed Nic's boyfriend, Hank Palmer, right away. It was hard to miss him, sitting in his car at the end of the dock, waiting for their arrival. Nic's boyfriend was a burly man who regularly wore a black knit cap pulled tightly over a tangle of black hair that was as unruly as his beard. He looked like a longshoreman, except instead of traveling aboard an ironclad ship, Hank drove a yellow VW Bug that hardly seemed big enough to contain him.

The women stepped off the ferry and walked down the dock amid a small throng of pedestrians, bikers, and cars, who were disembarking together at this quirky island town. For as long as she had lived in the area, Shelby never ceased to marvel at how time seemed to slow down to a stroll on Madeline Island, and how the days passed as easily as a lazy afternoon on the beach.

“Hey, babe!” Hank called out through the open window of his car as they approached. While the women threw their overnight bags into the trunk, Hank remained seated, rapidly tapping the steering wheel as if it were a snare drum. Shelby was reminded that chivalry was not one of Hank's strong points. Settling herself into the backseat, she watched as Nic slid into the seat beside Hank and he pulled her close for a gentle kiss. “I missed you,” he said, nuzzling in her ear.

“Thanks for picking us up,” Shelby said, leaning her head back and looking out the window.

“No problem. I'm glad you two are finally here. I don't know how much more I could take being alone with the Gordons. It was a rough night.” As he drove, Hank kept one hand on the wheel and held the other one out his car window. The rush of wind streamed off of his open palm and blew into the backseat, whipping wisps of Shelby's hair about her face.

“I'm sure it was
real
difficult,” Nic said in a deadpan tone.

“I'm telling you, Nic! They threw ribs on the grill, broke out a few cold beers . . .”

“A few?” Nic eyed the overgrown man at her side.

Shelby enjoyed their banter. They were an unlikely pair who ended up being perfectly suited for one another, like a bear and a precarious beehive laden with honey.

“What else did you guys do? You know, that made the night so difficult,” Nic asked.

“They made me sit by the fire and play Scrabble.” The image triggered hearty laughter as the yellow Bug sped down Big Bay Road away from the harbor.

 

Meals at Abby and Luke Gordon's house were always memorable, and the breakfast they prepared the following morning was no different. Poached eggs, roasted potatoes with peppers, blueberry muffins, and dark roast coffee. Although still newlyweds, the couple worked together in the kitchen as if they had been entertaining together for years. They always appeared in synch, whether cooking together in the compact kitchen, or throwing and firing pots in the studio behind their modest cottage. Even in appearance, the Gordons were a perfect match—caramel brown hair streaked blond from the summer sun; Birkenstocks in the summer and Sorels in the winter; blue eyes, square jawlines, and lanky legs. Best of all, they had infectious laughs that made even the most resolute curmudgeon smile.

“Who's up for a walk?” Abby asked after the group had finished their meal. Her wooden chair scraped against the floorboards as she pulled away from the table. “I don't know about you guys, but if I don't get outside after a big breakfast, I'll be napping by noon.”

“Sounds good to me.” Hank yawned, rubbing his hands over the faded Rolling Stones T-shirt that was stretched tightly across his barrel chest.

“You want to exercise?” Nic asked in surprise.

“What? Hell, no.” He ran his finger around the edge of his plate and then sucked off the remaining bits. “I was leaning toward a nap around noon.”

“What do you have in mind?” Luke called out to his wife from where he stood in front of the kitchen sink, filling the basin with warm, soapy water. “Where do you think you'll go?”

“State Park?” Abby suggested as she retrieved her shoes from the front hall closet.

“I'm on to you, Abby,” Nic said knowingly. “I know your idea of a walk. I'll go, but I'm not jogging over there, then hiking, and then jogging all the way back.”

“Don't worry. I'm not feeling that ambitious today,” Abby replied. “I thought we'd drive.”

“Hey, better yet—let's moped!” Nic jumped up with sudden interest. Then, almost in the same instant, she tempered her enthusiasm and looked directly at Abby. “That is, of course, if it's okay with you. I don't want to assume—”

“But you're so good at it, Nic,” Abby teased, rousing a chuckle among the friends. She walked over to Nic and set her arm around her shoulder. “Of course we can. It's a great idea!”

“Great! So which one of you two wants a buck on the back of mine,” Nic said, resuming her enthusiasm. Abby shook her head. “Shel?”

Shelby knew better. “Right. I'd rather arrive there in one piece. Abby, I'll ride with you.”

“Coward,” Nic muttered.

Before heading out, Abby popped back into the kitchen. “Last chance—sure you don't want to come?”