Sea Glass Winter (21 page)

“I understand that. But here’s a little life lesson I picked up one dicey day in Kandahar. If it doesn’t blow you up, in the great scheme of things, it isn’t all that important.”

Before she could respond to that, he skimmed a finger down the slope of her nose. “You’ll dream of me tonight,” he predicted.

“Arrogant ass,” she muttered.

But about this, Claire knew he was right.

41

Dillo
n had decided early on that if the Dolphins couldn’t beat the other teams on shooting and defense—which they couldn’t, at least at the beginning of the season—he was going to make sure they could outrun them.

Which was why, over the past weeks of preseason practice, he’d been ruthless in his conditioning program, making the kids run up and down the bleachers and do laps around the gym and, as a change of pace, on the school’s cinder track on those rare days when the rain didn’t threaten to drown them.

Everyone complained in the beginning, but by the first game of the season, when they opened on the road, he felt confident that there wasn’t a team in the league whose legs were as strong.

“We’re going to wear them down,” he said, walking up and down the aisle of the team bus as they headed up the coast to play the Agate Beach Pirates, who, Ken had informed Dillon, had been the Stoners back when they’d been established after World War II. Over time, as the name brought to mind something less inspiring than the rocks that scattered over the sand at low tide, the administration had decided to change mascots.

“They’re going to see us come out on the floor and think we’re the same team they’re used to wiping their floor with. But we’re going to be like sharks in a fish tank. We’ll sniff out the weak ones, never let up, and wear them down. Which will lead to what?” He put his hand to his ear.

“Turnovers!” the players roared as they did every time he asked the question.

“Right. And what is the one sure thing about turnovers?”

“The team with the fewest turnovers wins!”

“And what does Coach Wooden say about finishing a game?”

Along with running the players ragged since their first practice, Dillon had been determined to teach them the history of this game they were playing. To hammer into their minds the knowledge they needed to win when all the odds were against them.

“It’s not who starts a game. But who finishes!”

“And who’s that going to be today?”

“The Dolphins!”

What they might lack in skills and talent, they definitely made up for in enthusiasm.

“You bet your asses,” he said with a grin.

He returned to the front of the bus and sat down next to Don Daniels. “Sometimes I really freaking love this job,” he told the assistant coach.

Agate Bay was a division powerhouse and it showed—from the state championship banners hanging from the rafters to the trophy case in the lobby that overflowed with only a fraction of the shiny hardware the teams had collected over the years. And then there was the packed house of very vocal fans.

Having been told by Ken that they also introduced the team players NBA-style, Dillon had the AV guys at school set up a loudspeaker in the gym so the kids would get used to it. But it wasn’t the same as the real thing. As the roars rocked the roof and searchlights flashed each time a Pirate ran out onto the floor, Dillon could feel his Dolphin players’ spirits deflating.

He could give them all the
X
’s and
O
’s. He could quote John Wooden, Phil Jackson, and Pat Riley until he was blue in the face. They weren’t perfect. Hell, most days Dillon wasn’t even sure that—with the exception of Templeton—they were any good.

“Just go out there, run their tails off, and remember the basics,” he told the players, who were gathered around him on the sideline after the over-the-top, bells-and-whistles introduction meant to intimidate visiting teams. “And most of all, have fun.”

In the beginning, nerves showing, they forced shots, trying for three-pointers and dunks they couldn’t even make in practice.

“You’re trying too hard,” he told Dirk Martin after pulling him from the floor and putting his best friend, Cooper, in to replace him after he’d forced yet another shot to the rim. “Last year you might as well have been out there on your own. This year you’ve got Templeton. Whatever problems are between the two of you, keep them in the locker room. Don’t take them out onto the floor. And use him.”

At the end of the first quarter, the Dolphins were behind by only six points, which Dillon considered a miracle, right up there with the bread and fishes and water to wine. They might not be making any shots, but their legs were getting ahead of the Pirates, keeping them from making a lot of the attempts.

By halftime, they’d slipped six more, putting them twelve points behind. And when Martin threw away a ball instead of passing to Templeton, who’d been open, Dillon realized that the antagonism between the boys had returned. And, dammit, it probably would, every time they were under pressure. Which, given the team’s skill level, and the toughness of the season’s schedule, meant they’d be fighting each other during every damn game if he didn’t do something.

Now.

“Okay,” he said in the locker room, “we’ve got them right where we want them. Now it’s time to get serious and shut that crowd up. And we’re going to do that by making sure our captains get the ball as often as possible.”

“Captains?” Templeton asked.

“As in two?” Martin scowled at that idea and shot Claire’s kid a dark look.

“Two,” Dillon confirmed. “Guys, you’re looking at your new team captains.”

“Jeez, Coach,” the cocaptains both groaned at once. Revealing, Dillon thought optimistically, that his two best players finally had something in common. They both hated his brilliant idea.

“I don’t care how you two hotshot ball hogs get along off the court,” he said, “but when you’re playing, you’re going to not only cooperate; you’re going to lead. Is that straight?”

“Yes, sir,” they both mumbled. Which wasn’t exactly the level of enthusiasm Dillon needed from the boys.

He lifted his hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, sir!” Now,
that
was better.

“Good. Now go and show them that the Dolphins may get down, but they’re never out. And by the way, there’s a dead spot on the floor you can use to your advantage.”

“A dead spot?” Templeton asked.

“I didn’t see any dead spot,” Martin said.

“It’s three feet from the sidelines opposite their bench. Stay away from dribbling there, and if you can get them to fast break in that direction, you should be able to steal a dribble when the ball slows down.

“Now, before we go back out there, what’s our motto?”

“The only easy day was yesterday!”

“Hoorah,” Dillon said.

* * *

The conditioning had paid off. Although the locker room had radiated with antagonism, his two best players did somehow manage to put their antipathy aside as they put on the Templeton and Martin show.

The first half, each had been concerned with his own scoring, but suddenly, they were passing the ball, creating opportunities for their other teammates, and defending like dual demons.

They’d also managed to do what Ken had assured Dillon
never
happened. They silenced the home crowd. The gym, infamous in high school hoops for its deafening noise, became as quiet as a church on Monday morning. During the third quarter, there was only the sound of the leather ball bouncing, the squeaking of soles on the polished wooden floor, and the labored breathing of the Pirates as they were taken by surprise and outhustled.

Then, as the Dolphin fans realized that the momentum was actually changing, something they definitely weren’t used to seeing, they began to wildly cheer their team on.

With five minutes to go in the game, they’d not only made up the difference; they were two points ahead. Then Templeton, instead of taking an easy layup, decided to dunk it.

The ball clanked like a brick off the back rim, high into the air, but fortunately Martin grabbed it and scored with a layup.

Frustrated by the showboating, Dillon yanked Claire’s son off the court. “What’s the freaking first commandment?”

“The team always comes first.”

“And the second?”

“Thou shalt not miss a dunk.”

“Remember that next time. For now, put your butt on the bench. If I need you, I’ll call.”

The Pirates’ legs were gone. The Dolphins had spent the final quarter controlling the clock, keeping the ball from their opponent, running them up and down the court, essentially putting on a basketball clinic.

“I hate to tempt fate,” Don said as Templeton, now back in the game, shot, making three points, “but it’s going to be really hard for them to lose now.”

“I know.”

Dillon was not exactly thrilled to find his team on the winning side of a blowout. His initial concern, going into the game, was that they hadn’t known how to win. Now he worried that they’d foolishly, mistakenly think the rest of the season was going to go the same way, and slack off.

As yet more proof of their inexperience, when the buzzer rang, his ebullient team went wild, jumping around at the center of the floor, throwing high fives as if they’d just won the NBA finals.

Which earned them an admittedly deserved foul for excessive celebration, but the Pirates, now totally off their usual brilliance, missed the free throws, officially ending the game.

Only then did Dillon look up into the stands to the visitors’ section, where he’d known, from the moment she’d walked in, that Claire was sitting with the entire Douchett clan, along with Charity, Gabe, and Angel, who’d swapped out the ubiquitous tutu for a miniature blue-and-white Dolphins cheerleader outfit.

The woman who’d infiltrated his dreams and banished his nightmares, the single mother whose love and unyielding sense of duty to her son were the only things keeping them apart, had begun jumping up and down like a teenager, waving plastic blue-and-white pom-poms and hugging everyone around her.

Their eyes met. When she flashed him a dazzlingly brilliant smile, the first he’d been treated to, Dillon’s breath clogged in his lungs and his mouth went as dry as the Iraqi sandbox.

The earth teetered on its axis, tectonic plates shifted, volcanoes erupted, and if a wave train of a tsunami had suddenly washed over the gym, he wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.

Because the well-ordered, comfortable, postwar world he’d created for himself in Shelter Bay had just exploded.

And, on the verge of exploding himself, Dillon knew that neither it nor he would ever be the same.

4
2

After Thanksgiving dinner at the Douchett home, Claire locked herself away in her studio and, except for attending Matt’s games, spent most of her waking hours sketching and blowing the glass pieces for her exhibition.

Despite a less than encouraging beginning, since her visit to the aquarium, the previously temperamental glass had come alive, singing in a way she’d never experienced before. So much so that, after waking up to see what appeared to be a glistening of ice crystals on the steely water outside her windows, she decided, although she’d already created what she’d thought would be her final piece, to try one more.

The process was hot, laborious, and prone to failure, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her.

“The only easy day was yesterday,” she said, quoting the SEAL saying Dillon had the team repeat before every game.

She began by swirling the glass from the crucible onto her blowpipe. As long as she’d been working with molten glass, she found the fact that the mere wind of her breath could create such beauty almost miraculous. Since the slightest change in breath at the crucial moment could be the difference between perfection and another piece tossed into the scrap bucket, she quickly shaped, reheated, then shaped some more.

When she was satisfied, she began rolling the piece on her marver, coaxing it into the form that would begin its final transformation as she layered on frit—bits of crushed colored glass—in swirling shades of deep smoke blue, steel blue, and opal white designed to resemble the storm-tossed, white-capped winter sea churning outside her windows.

“Good,” she murmured as she twirled the glass downward, then suddenly stopped, causing the edges to ripple like the tops of waves. “But not quite finished.”

A
ghiaccio
was a Venitian technique popular in the sixteenth century that she’d achieved only a few times. But as heady creativity surged through Claire’s veins, intent as she was on her creation, an earthquake could have split open the floor beneath her sneaker-clad feet and she wouldn’t have noticed.

This time she drew in a deep breath. Then she plunged the multihued bowl into cold water, causing a sudden, fine crackling of the surface. Thus, the definition of the word:
ice
.

Then—and this was the trickiest part—she quickly returned to her blowpipe and blew more clear glass she used to layer over the crackled ice.

As she carried the bowl to the annealer to slowly cool, she found herself wishing she had someone to share her success with.

“Sometimes,” she said to herself as she closed the oven door, “total independence can suck.”

43

Phoebe was sitting on the couch, knitting a square for Project Linus—a charity that made blankets for sick and needy children that Sax’s grandmother had gotten nearly every woman in town involved in—when the doorbell rang. Sunny, her and Ethan’s adopted golden retriever, rose from where she’d been snoozing on the rug to accompany her to the door.

When Phoebe looked through the peephole and saw who was standing on the other side of the door, her stomach clenched.

“It’s Charity,” she told Ethan as he came over from the kitchen area, where he’d begun preparing dinner. Although she’d assured him that she was perfectly capable, he’d insisted, when she’d arrived home from cooking for the Lavender Hill Farm restaurant lunch crowd, that she spend the rest of the day off her feet and relaxing.

“Well, you’d better let her in.” Although his voice was typically calm, she could see the shared worry in his eyes.

“I bring more tidings of good news,” Charity said as she entered the apartment, pausing momentarily to pat the welcoming dog’s head. “And an early Christmas present—the Fletchers dropped the suit.”

“What?” Phoebe turned to Ethan, who looked as surprised as she felt. “That fast? How?”

“It seems your former father-in-law has been under investigation for something to do with natural gas licenses. I didn’t really follow all of it, but it appears that bribery might have been involved. Along with extortion.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Phoebe said.

“Like father, like son,” Ethan muttered.

“There’s more. It appears Peter wasn’t his only child.”

“What?” All right,
that
came as a surprise.

“Apparently he’s been spending a lot of time in Washington, DC.”

“He always did. That’s where the lobbyists are.”

“True. Including one particular one who, it seems, he’s been having an affair with for the past eight years.”

“No!” Phoebe’s surge of emotion caused her child to do a backflip. Sitting back down on the couch, she pressed her hands against her stomach. Revealing a strong sensitivity to emotion, Sunny placed her large, furry head in Phoebe’s lap, as if to comfort her. “Are you saying he has a secret child with this woman?” Phoebe asked as she stroked the golden retriever.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And he’s been siphoning money to pay for her living expenses in a pricey Georgetown home. Plus private school for his daughter. Also some really to-die-for vacation trips to the Caribbean, Mexico, and Europe, including a birthday trip for the little girl to Disneyland Paris this past August.

“Which gets particularly sticky when you consider that Fletcher Gas and Oil went public a decade ago. So, by paying the woman consulting fees averaging in the seven figures every year for eight years to keep her quiet when she hasn’t done a lick of work for the company, it appears he’s been embezzling from shareholders.”

“Oh, wow.” For a fleeting moment Phoebe almost felt sorry for her former mother-in-law. Then she reminded herself that the woman had been trying to steal her child.

“I do feel sorry for that little girl,” she murmured. “Bad enough that her father’s never acknowledged her publicly. But her mother must not be the most nurturing parent, either, to use her daughter as a bargaining and blackmail chip.”

“That part sucks,” Charity agreed.

“Well, it certainly doesn’t make the guy an ideal father in the eyes of any court,” Ethan said.

“That is true. My stepfather learned this from an attorney friend who’s familiar with the case. It hasn’t gone public yet. But it’s about to break, and I suspect, Phoebe, that your former father-in-law might find himself going to federal prison.”

“Too bad it’ll probably be one of those country club ones for the rich one percent,” Ethan muttered.

“Unfortunately, you’re probably right,” Charity agreed. “But a prison’s still a prison. He’s going to lose his freedom, undoubtedly the chairmanship of his own company, and his reputation. Not to mention all his business and political friends, who won’t want to be connected with him in any way.

“Unsurprisingly, his attorney realized that there’s no way he can win a custody battle while being under threat of incarceration for several federal crimes. Especially when you already factor in his son’s actions toward you and Ethan. So they had no choice but to drop the suit. Which they would have lost, but now you won’t have to go through all that stress of depositions and perhaps even court appearances.”

“Wow,” Phoebe repeated, her head spinning. “I can’t imagine how furious Peter’s mother must be.”

“Like the evil queen in Disney’s Snow White, just before the boulder falls on her,” Ethan guessed.

“That’s probably a good analogy,” Charity said.

“She’s always enjoyed playing society queen bee,” Phoebe said. “It’s how she’s defined herself.”

“Well, that’s going to be a bit difficult with the king behind bars,” Charity said dryly.

Phoebe knew that this would go down as one of the most amazing days of her life. As she sat there with a woman who’d become her friend and the man she loved with every fiber of her being, and her sweet new dog, who’d fit so perfectly into her life, she looked around her lovely apartment again and thought of how far she’d come since she was that terrified, shattered runaway wife who’d arrived on the doorstep of Haven House.

“I love this apartment,” she said.

“You’ve done a great job with it,” Charity said.

“I have. Thanks to all of you who chipped in to help furnish it. And I’ll definitely keep and cherish every gift. But”—she held out her hand to Ethan—“I think it’s time for me to go home. To our farm.”