Making Waves (33 page)

“Can I borrow this for a while?”

“Oh, I understand. You want to go over it with Roger. Yes, that’s fine.”

Marguerite stood up. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll bring this back.”

“But what about lunch?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But you haven’t eaten well since your engagement.”

Lilly suddenly appeared and thrust a bun with a piece of ham tucked inside it into Marguerite’s hand. “Your mama’s right. You need to eat. That ought to tide you over.”

She smiled at her friend and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll see you both at dinner.”

Setting out the cookies and the punch Alice had made for her, Marguerite readied the large, open parlor of the Yacht Club for her committee guests. Yesterday it had taken her all afternoon to get the first five women to commit, but after she had their word, including that of Roger’s mother, the remaining slots filled quickly. Even her own mother offered to help, but Marguerite wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

After setting up a few extra wooden folding chairs, Marguerite tugged her businesslike taupe vest into place, then stepped back to examine her handiwork. A gavel lay on the table, tablets beside it. Chairs, punch, cookies – check.

The door opened, and she drew in a steadying breath. Ready or not, her guests were here.

Welcoming each lady, she encouraged them to find a seat. When she was sure most had arrived, she tapped the gavel on the table. “Ladies, may I welcome you to the organizational meeting for the Lake Manawa Water Carnival Ladies Auxiliary.”

Following a vote of officers, of which she became president, the meeting proceeded with Marguerite filling them in on her idea. She explained that the program would be a reenactment of a naval battle, replete with an abundance of fireworks.

Excited chatter filled the room. She tapped her gavel again. “Ladies, I’m glad to hear you like the proposal. Now, how shall we encourage the boat owners to embellish the boats the way we need them to?”

Emily Graham raised her hand. “Prizes would work. We could offer one for the best-decorated boat.”

“Excellent idea. And we’ll need men to construct the two forts.”

Mrs. Whitson lifted her fan. “I believe my husband would enjoy doing that. He doesn’t own a boat, but he’d love the reenactment of a battle and I’m sure he’d want to do his part.”

“Perfect. Are there others who would like to help him?”

Within minutes, Marguerite had divided the committee into four groups that would be needed for the carnival: decorations, refreshments, fort construction, and fireworks.

She cleared her throat, but the ladies kept chatting. “Ladies. Ladies!” They quieted. “We’ll also still need to recruit boat participants.”

“I think I can help with that,” Captain Andrews announced as he entered the room. “The Yacht Club is one of the sponsors, after all. How many boats would you need?”

“I believe there were about forty boats in the Chicago exhibition.”

Captain Andrews rubbed his right arm. “That shouldn’t be much of a problem.” He tugged at his collar.

“Thank you, sir.”

The captain’s face paled and scrunched in pain.

Concern shook Marguerite. She moved to his side. “Sir, are you all right? Here, sit down.”

He didn’t argue, which shot even more shards of fear through her. His breath came in short gasps. “Heart.”

Marguerite turned to the anxious women around her. “Emily, get the doctor. Laura, go next door and get his son.” She undid the buttons on his shirt collar. “Captain, try to relax. Breathe. Nice and slow.”

Minutes later Trip and Harry burst through the door. Trip paused when he saw her kneeling beside his father.

“It’s his heart. I sent for the doctor.” She gently stroked the captain’s arm. “He needs to be in bed.”

“There’s a stretcher in the back. Harry – ”

Trip’s curly-haired friend was already halfway down the hall.

Standing over her squatting frame, Trip crossed his arms over his chest. “How did this happen? Did you upset him?”

“No! We were just finishing up our meeting.”

“What meeting? He’s supposed to be resting.”

“Don’t,” Captain Andrews gasped. “Not . . . her . . . fault.”

Harry sped in with the stretcher tucked beneath his arm. Marguerite cleared the ladies out while Trip and Harry loaded the captain onto it. On instinct she followed them into the boat shop, but stopped inside at the foot of the stairs that led to the second-floor apartment. She didn’t belong there, and she definitely wasn’t wanted.

Trip glanced at her for a brief second before disappearing down the hallway, his face a hurricane of emotions. He’d lost his mother. He’d lost her. What would he do now if he lost his father?

Sinking to a stool, Marguerite buried her face in her hands and begged God to spare the captain’s life. Guilt heaped on her like too many quilts in the summer heat. Why did it feel like this was her fault?

She waited and prayed and prayed some more. Harry had promised to come fill her in, and that had been nearly half an hour ago.

Finally she heard a noise and lifted her head. She climbed to her feet as soon as she heard heavy footfalls on the stairs. Instead of Harry, Trip appeared, shoulders sagging, worry etched on his face.

“How is he?”

“The doctor says it’s another heart attack and his chances are less than fifty percent.” Trip dropped onto the last step and rubbed his forehead. Voice cold, he asked, “Why are you still here?”

She dabbed at her eyes, aching to wrap Trip in her arms and ease his burden.

“I wanted . . . I needed to know how your father was.”

“Now you know.”

“Trip, I’m so sorry. One minute he was fine, and the next the pain started. I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“But you just have that effect on people, don’t you?” He shook his head and his lips narrowed to a tight line. “This is not about you or your need to assuage your guilt, Marguerite.”

Harry called down the staircase and told him that his father wanted to talk to him. Trip stood. “Go back to your fiancé. We’ll be just fine without you.”

Marching from the boat shop, Marguerite allowed the door to slam behind her. Fury propelled her down the walk. How dare he? Fine without her? Not about her? Of course it wasn’t. None of this was about her. She didn’t have a choice in this matter. Hadn’t Trip come to an understanding of that by now?

She smirked. No, the only thing high and mighty, perfect Trip Andrews knew was that the rest of the world failed to meet his expectations. Everyone everywhere let him down.

A thread of guilt pulled at her heart, but she refused to unravel it. Even if Trip’s father was seriously ill, she didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. If this was how Trip wanted it, she didn’t care if she ever saw him again.

Leaning against the door frame, Trip watched Harry leave and then paused before entering the room.
Lord, don’t take
him. He may be a pain sometimes, but he’s my pain
.

He entered and sat down beside his father.

“He’s been asking for you.” The doctor squeezed Trip’s shoulder. “Don’t tire him. He needs all the rest he can get. Each hour he survives, he gets stronger and his chances improve.”

Trip nodded, taking his father’s hand in his own. “Thanks, Doc.”

After the doctor quietly closed the door, Deuce opened his eyes. “Where is she?”

“Who? Marguerite?”

He nodded.

“I sent her home.”

“She’s good for you.”

“She’s a liar, just like Mom.” He brushed a wisp of wiry white hair off his father’s forehead.

Deuce coughed weakly. “No, son.”

“You don’t know what she did.”

“Son, listen. I’m the liar.”

He held a cup of water to his father’s lips. “Shhh, it’s okay.” The poor man didn’t even realize what he was saying. “Whatever you have to say can wait till later. Just take it easy.”

“Don’t hush me,” Deuce said forcefully, trying to sit up. “You need to hear this. You need to know the truth. In case . . .”

Trip pressed him back against the pillow. What was his father rambling about? Should he try to keep him quiet when trying to silence his father only seemed to stress him more?

Finally Trip nodded. “Okay, okay, I’m listening.”

“I lied to you about your mother. She didn’t leave us . . . She died.”

Trip’s brows drew together. “What? No, I was five, and she left.”

“You were five and scared to death of the water.” He coughed again.

Trip leaned closer to hear his father’s hoarse whisper.

“Just when you were getting over your fears, she drowned. You saw it, you just don’t remember.” His father’s eyes drifted shut, but his chest continued to rise and fall.

Mouth dry, Trip tried to speak but no words came out. All this time he’d thought his mother had deserted him. Left him. He’d loved her so much. He remembered telling her so all the time, bringing her bouquets of dandelions, kissing her petal-soft cheek, wrapping his arms around her neck. She smelled of ginger cookies, spice, and vanilla.

Did he remember the incident? He’d had nightmares his whole life of a woman thrashing in the water and a man trying to save her, but he’d never considered it could be a memory. Is that why Marguerite’s lie about being able to swim had made him so furious? His own mother had drowned.

“Why?” he croaked. “Dad, why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

Deuce lifted heavy-laden lids. “You gotta understand. I couldn’t have a boy afraid of the water. The water was all I knew. All I had left. I had to build boats for you and me.”

“So you told me she left us.”

“Thought it would hurt less.” His breath came in short gasps.

“That’s enough talk for now, Dad. We can discuss this later.”

Deuce’s eyes widened, a fierceness in them that Trip hadn’t seen before. “You have to know. She didn’t choose to leave you.”

But Marguerite had.

His father squeezed his hand. “You need to take over the Water Carnival for me – and you’ll have to work with Marguerite.”

“Dad . . .”

“Promise me.” He fought to keep his eyes open. “Promise – ”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

23

With papers splayed across one of the desks in the Yacht Club’s office, Marguerite tapped the tip of her pencil against her mouth. She had arrived at the Yacht Club early, figuring the best way she knew to help Captain Andrews recover was to organize the Water Carnival. Her thoughts kept drifting to Trip’s face awash with anguish. But from the bitterness in his voice, he’d made it obvious she was the last person he wanted comfort from.

Sighing, she picked up the list she’d made at the meeting yesterday: decorations, forts, fireworks, and food. So many details to oversee. Recruiting the boat skippers, advertising the event, and securing the necessary supplies to transform the boats into battleships. She pinched the bridge of her nose. What had she gotten herself into?

Footsteps in the hall alerted her to someone’s approach. Wanting to at least appear like she had a handle on the situation, she quickly set her pencil to her tablet. Someone entered the room, but she kept writing. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“You’ll be with me now.”

Roger. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach with a sick thud. She looked up and forced a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t that be my question to you?” He pushed up his spectacles. “You have a wedding to plan. You don’t have time to waste putting on water shows.”

“Water Carnival, and I do have the time.”
Because I’m
going to make this engagement last forever
. “Besides, Mother is working on the wedding plans.”

“I don’t like this.” Roger tapped the tablet in front of her with his index finger. His bushy mustache twitched over his pouty lips. “You shouldn’t be working in an office like some common clerk. You should be parading the boardwalk on my arm, where everyone can see the beautiful catch I’ve made.”

Does he think I’m a fish?
A giggle tickled her throat, and she swallowed to keep it from erupting.
If I was, I guess I’d
be a largemouth bass
.

“I’m sorry, I simply can’t stop now. This is much too important, and Captain Andrews has taken ill. Did you know your mother is on the planning committee? What would she think of me if I should quit?”