From the window of his room at the downtown Marriot, Duncan admired the sparkling lights of the city while he spoke to Patrick. “How was school today?”
“Boring.” His son always had the same answer. “Got a B on a Bio test. The teacher said I got the highest grade in the class.”
“Sounds like a tough one. Congratulations.” He stepped away from the view and picked up the drink he’d left on the hotel room desk. “I’ll be home right after the closing tomorrow, probably by lunchtime. Let Helen know they’ve changed the location to my lawyer’s office in Hartford. After that, the house in Northbridge will be all ours.”
“Oh yeah. Helen said to tell you the movers called to confirm things. She told them you’d call back.”
Thank God for Helen. When Elizabeth got sick, a search through the grapevine at the office yielded the seventy-two-year-old grandmother of three. She’d stayed on to help with the kids after his wife died, making life as a single father easier.
He sipped his drink and the ice clinked. “Two weeks until we move, buddy. Are you psyched?”
“Yeah. A little nervous, but kinda feel like this is our adventure.”
Patrick’s optimism made him happy. “Life’s too short not to enjoy a good adventure. See you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Duncan tossed the phone on the bed and returned to the window, slowly sipping his drink. He wished his daughter would warm up to his efforts to be a better father. Since starting college three months ago, she’d grown more distant. Only time would tell.
An airplane light blinked in the sky. Against the cityscape, the aircraft reminded him of that horrible day when the World Trade Center crumbled to the ground in the same city he worked and lived. Profound sadness welled in his chest as it always did when he remembered the horrors that unfolded. That day also marked the one time in his adult life he thought about what really mattered. He’d lost many friends, but luckily his family had remained safe. For a couple months he’d made more effort to be with them yet, as life returned to normal, so had he. Only years later, when the doctor gave his wife’s cancer diagnosis, had he regretted the return of his old ways.
He shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Yes, life could change any day without warning. Sophie’s re-entry into his life had changed him, especially after today’s interview. She’d pried off layers of control he’d fine-tuned over a lifetime. He tipped back the bourbon and got lost in the slow blaze igniting his throat and warming his entire body, a reminder of her closeness today and how it had made him stir.
The day he’d gone to look at houses in Northbridge, running into her at the kayaks had really blown his mind. Good thing he hadn’t told her the truth about their early encounters years ago. She’d have doubled over in laughter learning she’d been his first boyhood crush. Jesus, she didn’t even remember him.
An image of the first time he saw Sophie crystalized in his mind, clear as if it were yesterday, not the summer when Duncan had turned thirteen. His mother had insisted the family forego their usual July vacation to Newport and head to their long-forgotten lake home. Dad always offered his granddad’s lakefront home to friends, leaving the maintenance to a property firm.
The first morning there, his father dragged Duncan and Trent out of bed at dawn to go fishing. After a trip to Bullhead Bait n’ Tackle, they’d left with fly rods, hand-crafted flies, and a map of the best spots along the Housatonic River.
The event marked one of the few moments his father engaged in any type of activity with both of his sons. Duncan hated the early hour and wasn’t sure about the fishing, but he’d found treasured gold in the camaraderie with his workaholic father.
Duncan’s attitude toward fishing had changed with the first tug on his line. “Dad! Come here. Hurry. I’ve got something.”
His father had waded through the water, shouting excited instructions. Duncan followed every word, walking backward and cranking the reel.
“Let the fish struggle.” He’d never heard his father so excited. “Tire him out.”
Duncan had played with the fish. When his first shimmering trout emerged, dangling at the end of his line, Duncan—like the fish—became hooked on the sport.
Later they’d returned to the tackle shop for a cold soda. A pretty girl his age stood in the back loading Coke bottles into an old boxy refrigerator. Her flowing hair had caressed her shoulders, almost like the wild branches lining the trail they’d taken that morning to reach their fishing spot on the river. Cut-off denim shorts and a black, fitted Led Zeppelin T-shirt had disclosed the start of her womanly curves, a far cry from the outfits worn by the girls at the private school he’d attended. Duncan had peeked from behind a rack of fishing vests, rendered as debilitated as a stunned fish.
The shop owner, Mr. Moore, had yelled, “Sophie, bring three Colas up front, please.”
She’d appeared a minute later and dumped the bottles on the counter.
An unforeseen force, one he’d never experienced in his life, generated a magnetic pull, leading him to the back of the store. He’d loitered around a display of rods and feigned interest but covertly observed her every move.
Sophie had bent down and lifted a bottle from the case. Instead of stacking it with the others, she’d twisted around and smiled at him. “Hi. First summer here?”
His mouth had gone dry. He’d nodded.
“How was fishing?”
“Good,” he’d mumbled, dumbstruck by his own desires.
“Yesterday morning I caught a bunch of small-mouth bass below the dam. A little past the bridge. They’re pretty good fighters.”
He’d nodded again.
Sophie’s eyes had swum with playful brightness. “You might want to give ’em a try if you go out tomorrow. That is, if you think you can handle them.” Her voice had teased with the sweetness of honeysuckle.
Desire had snared his hormone-laden body, leaving it vacant of words.
He’d obsessed about her the entire visit, learned they were the same age. Over the four weeks of their stay, he attempted to recover from the first awkward conversation. He’d tested the waters, carefully dipping in a toe every time he visited the family shop. He’d possessed all the desire to deal with her but none of the skills and had returned to New York with dry feet.
The Jamiesons had returned the next summer, when Duncan was about to enter high school. Like many boys his age, he hadn’t quite sprouted. She’d shown no signs of remembering him from the year before. Her attention had focused on an older boy with a dirt bike who hung around the shop.
Their visit in Northbridge had ended abruptly, two weeks earlier than planned. He woke one morning and his father said they planned to leave right away due to a problem at work. The next spring, his father had sold the home. Much like the photographs they’d taken of their visits to the lake were subsequently stored in a closet to collect dust, his thoughts of Sophie were forgotten, too.
Her question during today’s interview had thrown him. Why would his dad’s old family house sale in Northbridge matter now? He vaguely recalled some tension between his parents the last summer they had come here. So what? They didn’t have a perfect marriage. The house sale a year later had surprised Duncan, though.
His cell phone vibrated. He answered and told his old college friend he’d be right down to meet him for dinner, gulped the rest of his drink, and tossed on his suit jacket.
The elevator whisked him to the lobby while his mind raced with images of Sophie. Compared to the sophisticated, ivy-league educated women he’d been with over the years, she was more granola, less dolled-up than her urban counterparts. Her full lips and creamy skin could compete with the best of them, and he longed to run his hands through her untamed hair.
Aroused by thoughts of her, one thing remained clear: he wanted a second chance to win her over, this time as the confident grown man he’d become. His adolescent feelings for her had never disappeared. Maturity had made them deeper, filled with the craving found within the folds of one’s heart. A place he’d shut off years ago.
A wary sensation roiled in his stomach. The kind you got before taking the biggest risk of your life.
* * * *
Sophie pretended to focus on scrubbing a metal pan while she eavesdropped on Tia, who sat curled on the sofa with the phone pressed to her ear.
“Really, Dad? Florida? When?”
Sophie stilled and listened more closely. Mike was a model father. His insensitive side was reserved for her, evident once again with the e-mail he’d sent two days ago.
His offer to take the kids to Florida in January wasn’t a big issue. That he’d choose the anniversary date Henry would have turned twenty-five for the getaway, which left her sitting home alone wallowing in the sadness of the day, irked the hell out of her. She wrote back, requesting he consider a different date. So far, he hadn’t responded.
Their son’s birthday should be just another day. On matters of Henry, though, common sense vanished. Anniversary dates knocked down barriers that kept her functioning the rest of the year. Matt and Tia also had a way of keeping her grounded in reality.
Since their divorce, Mike’s approach toward Sophie bordered on bitter cold. Not a surprise given the attitude he’d carried the day he asked for the divorce, a moment from five years ago that shaped their current relationship.
The problems had started in the morning, when she’d stumbled upon a nest of dead baby robins. The adult robins had skittered in the tree near the fallen nest, their nervous chirps asking why. Sophie had run inside sobbing and stowed away in bed with her head buried in a pillow to muffle her tears. Like the robins, Sophie had been left confused as to why her nest had been turned upside down and damaged, left to live with a smothering ache that reminded her she’d been cheated out of graduations, first jobs, and grandchildren.
Later that night, Mike had quietly appeared at the bathroom door while she’d patted dry her freshly washed face.
“Listen, Soph. Nothing can change what’s happened in our lives, but I’ve been trying to move forward.”
She’d lowered the towel.
His shoulders had sagged. He’d scrubbed the late day shadow on his chin with his palm and stared at the white tiled floor.
“What are you trying to say?”
“You’re holding me back.” He’d looked up and his eyes had glistened with tears. “I can’t live like this anymore.”
“Are you asking for a divorce?”
He’d nodded. “Something’s missing.” She’d never forget Mike’s hollow stare, a stark realization their love had completely dissolved. “Something besides Henry.”
The numb layer formed over her skin for two years had cracked. Mike’s words had cut like a sharp stab of the truth. Henry had been the adhesive bonding them in forced matrimony. With his death, they’d come unglued.
The confrontation had forced her to give better care to her two living children and seek professional help. It took some time, but last year her therapist said she’d reached the final stages of grief. Yet, Mike’s current disregard for the twenty-fifth anniversary of Henry’s birth stirred up old anger.
She honed in on Tia’s excited chatter. “I get out of two days of school too! Cool.”
Giving the dishwasher start button a tap, Sophie yawned, suddenly exhausted after the long drive to Hartford and the interview with Duncan. After close to an hour with him, she only had more questions to his vague responses. All the way home, she couldn’t forget how his nearness as they’d looked out the office window traveled straight to her core. Or how his “you don’t look like a tomboy anymore” remark made her nearly melt in her seat. There was always a chance he’d made the remark to throw her off-kilter, a reminder to approach him at all times with caution.
Tia giggled and Sophie’s irritation with Mike returned. Maybe this double-dose of set-backs—losing the land and now the kids being gone on such a tough day—warranted a call to Dr. Keller, the therapist she’d seen right after Mike left. A rational, guiding hand couldn’t hurt.
Bella, their wheat-colored terrier mix scoured the kitchen for leftover scraps. She crouched and stroked the dog’s strange blend of soft, wiry fur. “At least you won’t leave me that weekend, huh?” The dog’s tail swayed, but behind rich brown eyes, she begged for a handout. Sophie got her a treat.
Tia galloped into the kitchen, long dark hair flapping with the breeze. She stopped her colt-like frame within inches of Sophie. “Dad’s going to take us to Disney World in January!”
“Great.” Sophie faked an upbeat posture. “Did he give you the dates?”
“Here.” Tia slapped a Post-it note on the front of the refrigerator. “Wait’ll Matt gets home and finds out.” She skipped down the hallway, sounding more like an elephant than a slender teenager.
Same dates. What a coward. Couldn’t even tell her in person.
She ripped off the sticky note, went to the desk in the living room, and slammed the Post-it on the cover of her planner. Next to the trip dates were the notes from her meeting with Duncan. Sophie’s anger veered in a new direction. If her vineyard plans were still in the works and he hadn’t taken Tate Farm from her, she’d bet her focus wouldn’t be on Henry’s birthday. Damn you, Duncan Jamieson!
She clenched her hand into a fist, so tight her nails dug into her palm. Fury searched in all directions for another victim when it hit her…who was she really mad at? She had no idea.