Fortunate Harbor (10 page)

Gladys Woodley, Woody’s wife and the receptionist, was already in place behind her desk. Gladys was a middle-aged woman completely comfortable in her own skin, which was now stretched to capacity. Always overweight, in the past year she had added another fifteen pounds and vaulted up a dress size. At least once a week she threatened to diet, but so far she hadn’t chosen a plan.

“It looks like the sunrise classes are paying off,” Tracy said in greeting. “And I bet they’ll be better attended as the weather gets hotter and outdoor exercise loses its appeal.”

“We just had our biggest class. And the swimmers were waiting at the door when Miriam arrived to let them in.” Miriam was the swim instructor and lifeguard who ran the morning programs.

Gladys handed Tracy a stack of mail, including several professional journals. “We have news. Do you have time?”

“Always, if it’s good.”

Gladys leaned forward, which was getting harder. “It’s excellent. Henrietta Claiborne is coming to town.”

The recreation center was named for Mrs. Claiborne, the
benefactor who had presented a check to the mayor after her Jaguar broke down in Palmetto Grove on her way from her Palm Beach home to her home in Newport, Rhode Island. Mrs. Claiborne had been so impressed with the courtesy and honesty of Palmetto Grove’s citizens that she had written a check on the spot. The mayor, who fully expected the check to bounce, had waited a week to deposit it so the eccentric old woman had a head start. No one was more surprised than he when the check went through and suddenly Palmetto Grove had the funds it needed to build a state-of-the-art recreation complex.

“She’s coming to visit?” Like most people at the center, Tracy had never met Henrietta Claiborne.

“She’s coming for a banquet in her honor. The mayor and council arranged it. We’ll have it here, of course. It’s going to be a very big deal.”

“When?”

“A lot sooner than we’d like. She’s a little hard to pin down—the mayor’s been trying for months. She’s got a very full social calendar, but she finally agreed to May 23. The invitations are being printed this afternoon, and we hope to have them in the mail no later than tomorrow.”

“Wow. I guess this will be a big deal.”

Gladys lowered her voice. “The biggest. It’s very important that
everybody
pays attention to Henrietta and treats her like the benefactor she is. She’s everybody’s darling, and any word that she hasn’t been treated like a queen will get back to the mayor, even if Henrietta doesn’t tell them.”

Tracy smiled brightly. “You’re talking to the wrong woman. I’m nice to everybody.”

“Really? I heard a rumor you had another run in with the shuffle board.”

“I had no idea there was a flock of old men sneaking up on the marsh, much less the shuffle board!”

“They’re still talking about it.”

“You make one mistake around here…”

“Find a way to get back in their good graces.”

“Maybe I can trap that bird they were looking for and have it stuffed. Would that still count for their life lists?”

Gladys glared at her.

“I’m kidding.” Tracy shook her head. “I’ll think of something.”

“And you’ll put your best effort into making Henrietta Claiborne feel welcome?”

“Of course. She may never want to leave.”

“You’ll be expected to attend and show her what you’ve been doing. Displays would be nice. But you’ll need to get right on it. You don’t have a lot of time.” The telephone rang, and Gladys lifted her hand in farewell.

As the day progressed, Tracy thought about ways she could impress Mrs. Claiborne. She had supervised the placement of a large bulletin board in the corridor leading to the pool and locker rooms, and she decided to ask Janya to help her plan a splashy collage using photos from the past summer’s youth camp. She had trophies and ribbons that various rec center teams had won, and photos to go with them.

By the end of the day, though, she had added something punchier. She would select children she could count on and ask each to memorize a paragraph about rec center activities. Then she would station them, in uniform, along Henrietta Claiborne’s route. Who wouldn’t be impressed by cute, well-mannered kids in soccer uniforms and swim team garb, rattling on about how much they loved being here?

By five she was preparing to head home when the door
to her office flew open and Bay Egan sprinted in. He had his swim team bag clutched under one arm and two untied shoelaces. Tracy jumped up to catch him and Bay fell straight into her arms.

“Don’t let them get me!”

“Who’s after you this time?” She set him away from her but kept her hands on his shoulders, just in case.

“I’m s’posed to be waiting for my mom on the front bench, only she’s late, so I sneaked in here.”

“I see. You know, we make those rules about where you’re supposed to wait to keep you safe. Besides, how’s she going to know where you are?”

“She’ll be a while. She gets busy.”

Tracy didn’t know what to say to that. Now that she’d been fired, what was Sylvia so busy doing that she couldn’t pick up her son?

Bay had sandy-brown hair and matching brown eyes, along with his father’s smile. Maybe he had his mother’s nose, Tracy wasn’t sure, but if so, it was the only sign Sylvia had been involved in his creation. Of course, Sylvia hadn’t been particularly involved in his infancy or early childhood, either, and now she seemed determined not to be involved all over again.

“How was swim practice?” Tracy asked. “You can tell me on the way back to the bench.”

“Do I have to wait out there?”

“Tie your shoes first, okay?”

“You’ll come, too?”

“It’s on my way to the car.”

“Swim practice was great! I did my best butterfly yet.”

She socked him on the shoulder. “Good going, kid. Are you going to win us a trophy this summer?”

Bay crouched in place and tied his shoes. “I want Mom to see me swim. I want to show her I can win.”

Tracy was all for winning, but she didn’t like the sound of that. She tried to be generous. “She’ll be proud of you no matter what.”

“She doesn’t like swim meets, but she said she’d come to my next one anyway. With my dad.” He looked up. “I’ll be like everybody else.”

This was not the best conversation of Tracy’s day, rating lower, if possible, than her encounter with CJ. The vision of the three Egans in a little family huddle was more than she wanted to deal with, but she liked Bay too much to shut him up. He was brimming over and had to tell somebody.

“That’s great.” Her tone was hollow, but he didn’t notice.

“And she promised to take me to Disney World if she can find the time.” He looked up. “She’s real busy.”

“I’m sure she is.” She couldn’t help herself. “Cleaning the house, cooking meals, mom stuff.”

“No, lawyer stuff. She says when I grow up, I’ll understand.”

Tracy hoped he never did. She tried to be kind as well as generous. “I know you like having her here, even if she’s not always available.”

“We went on a picnic. Her, me and Dad. She got sunburned, though, so I guess she didn’t like it so much.”

Sylvia with a sunburn made Tracy feel a little better.

“Tonight we’re going to the movies,” Bay said. “Like a real family. And before we do, we’re going to shop for new shoes ’cause these are crummy. On the way home!”

Now Tracy wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cry or scream. The little boy was so thrilled about buying shoes with his mom, and all Sylvia had ever done to deserve his adoration was
forget a birth control pill, or whatever similar lapse had caused her pregnancy.

Bay leaped to his feet. “She said I could have popcorn and a candy bar.”

“Well, you’re a little piggy, aren’t you?” Tracy put her arm around his shoulder to guide him out the door. She couldn’t take much more of this. “I bet your dad’s going to make you eat a good dinner first, huh?”

“We’re having catfish. Me and him caught some on Sunday while Mom was taking a nap.”

Tracy played that imaginary film footage in her head. Marsh sweeping Bay out of the house so that beleaguered Sylvia could sleep in peace. The more Tracy heard, the less she liked any of it.

She wondered if Marsh was growing as enthused as his son about a long-term family reunion.

As they headed out front they chatted about the swim team. In the reception area, Tracy ran interference when Gladys nailed Bay for disappearing from the bench without telling anybody.

“I know, I already gave him the lecture,” Tracy promised.

“I just had to tell Tracy stuff,” Bay said. “Sorry.”

Tracy and Gladys exchanged looks. Gladys knew about Sylvia’s return. Although she’d never commented, Tracy suspected Gladys had her doubts about Sylvia’s intentions, too.

Tracy was gearing up to make Bay promise he would wait on the bench and not make any new field trips when she realized that Marsh had just parked and was crossing the lot toward them. He wore a suit and tie, although the latter was undone, and she suspected he’d just come from the courthouse.

She really couldn’t abandon Bay without looking as if she was running away. She took a deep breath.

“Hey, there’s your dad,” she told the little boy. “Looks like he and your mom switched places today.”

She hoped Bay would run to his father, but he waited beside her for Marsh to approach.

“Where’s Mom?” Bay demanded, when Marsh got close enough.

“She got caught up in some business stuff. She asked me to pick you up.”

“You’re late.”

Marsh didn’t say anything. Tracy almost felt sorry for him. Clearly Sylvia had forgotten Bay, then called Marsh at the last minute. If Marsh told his son the truth, Sylvia looked bad. If he didn’t,
he
looked bad.

Tracy looked down at Bay so that she wouldn’t have to look at his father. She realized the boy was empty-handed. “Did you forget your swim bag, kid?”

“Man!” Without another word, Bay took off back the way they had just come.

Marsh wasn’t having any problem figuring out where to look. His eyes were riveted on her face. “Sylvia got a phone call from a firm in Fort Myers as she was leaving to get Bay. She managed to call me.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I thought I did. You seemed to be babysitting him.”

“Funny, I don’t think of it that way. We were having a conversation. I happen to like him.”

“She’s looking for a job in Florida, so she can be closer to Bay.”

“That will be a comedown from Manhattan.”

“Maybe she’s tired of the rat race.”

Or maybe Sylvia just wanted to keep Marsh on a shorter tether. Tracy dug for her car keys. “Well, I’m on my way home.”

He put a hand on her arm to stop her and stroked the inside of her wrist with his index finger. Back and forth, slowly, with just enough pressure that Tracy felt the flutter all the way to her toes.

“Look, I’m sorry about the other night. Things got out of hand. All those interruptions…” He smiled a little. “I changed my ringtone.”

She didn’t smile back, but neither did she pull away. She had never realized how sensuous one little finger on one narrow wrist could be.

“A cricket chirping,” he elaborated. “It’s not nearly as annoying.”

“The ringtone was the least of it.”

“And, as it turns out, you really weren’t imagining your ex, were you? So I was wrong about that, too.”

She melted just a fraction more. “I didn’t know men could admit to imperfection. I thought it went against your basic nature. Like asking directions and reading maps.”

“And were you the least bit snarky?”

She considered and finally found the strength to remove her wrist from his grasp. “No.”

“I’m not falling for Sylvia’s line, and you as much as said I was.”

“I think what I said was that she was trying to reel you in, Marsh. I have no way of knowing if you’re just nibbling at the bait or dangerously close to being filleted.”

“For somebody who practically grew up on Rodeo Drive, you manage a passable fishing metaphor.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“So CJ is really here in Palmetto Grove?”

“He was at my house this morning.”

He frowned. “You’re spending time with him?”

Did she like this jealous streak? Did it make her feel loved? She wasn’t sure. At least he was paying attention.

“We’ve had two brief conversations,” she said. “Does that qualify?”

“About what?”

“He’s at loose ends. He’s been making a survey of Happiness Key to see what needs to be done. And he’s volunteered to draw up some plans for the old cottage sites.”

“He knows about the easement?”

“He thinks I’m crazy.”

“Do you really want to hang out with this guy? Remember how much trouble he caused you?”

She slapped her palm against the side of her head. “Gosh, no. Thanks. I’d completely forgotten.”

“I just don’t see how anything good can come of it.”

“Isn’t there some old expression about the pot calling the kettle black?”

“As reconciliations go, this isn’t going to win any awards.”

“CJ and I—”

“No, stop! I meant you and me, not you and him. I apologized, and it seems to be spinning around the stratosphere somewhere. Where’s the incentive for groveling?”

“You call this groveling?”

Bay screeched to a halt beside his dad, this time with swim bag in hand. “I want Mom to help me pick out shoes, not you.”

“I figured,” Marsh said.

“Are we still going to the movies? All of us?”

“I haven’t heard otherwise.”

“Then let’s go!”

“You boys run along,” Tracy said. “Bay, eat some popcorn for me.”

Bay wrapped his arms around Tracy’s waist for a spontaneous hug, then took off for the car.

“I hate to be jealous of my own son,” Marsh said. “It’s not seemly.”

“This is too complicated, Marsh.
We’re
too complicated.”

He held her gaze, and his expression was serious. “I’d like to think we can move beyond a few minor roadblocks.”

“These are walking, talking, troublemaking
major
roadblocks, complete with historical markers.”

“So you want to just table
us
for a while?”