THE CONNELL BRASSWORKS was only a fiveminute drive from Hurricane Beach. It sat on a small point of land across a ribbon of languid water, the Alligator Creek, a tributary known more for its colorful name than for the actual presence of any overgrown lizards. Half-hidden among the pines, the brassworks consisted of three buildings: an ancient schoolhouse, which had been transplanted from no-one-knew-where-for-certain, and transformed into the company's offices; a large barracks, also of dubious lineage, which doubled as finishing room and pattern storage; and the foundry itself, a faded brick monstrosity with all the architectural charm of a Victorian brothel. A wooden pier extended well out into the creek, while the creek itself flowed toward the gulf and the main beachfront of the town.
Matt supposed the age of the buildings alone gave the brassworks a certain rustic charm— “quaint” is what the guidebooks called it—and the Connell tour was always given five stars. And when you factored in the manual processing, along with the allure of its age-old reputation for a small but high-quality production of door knockers, knobs and hinges, bedposts, drawer pulls, cane heads, decorative water spigots, latches and whatnots, Matt supposed the place was more than a bit impressive.
Matt parked his Alpha Spider next to the only other car in the lot—a bleached yellow T'bird, sixties vintage. This being Sunday, the brassworks were closed, but he'd heard that wouldn't stop his cousin Joanne from being here. According to Bea Connell, Joanne had recently made running Grandpa Connell's company into the ground her life's work. Matt had been asked to intercede. He didn't expect it to be a pleasant task—certainly he didn't look forward to the confrontation ahead.
The sun was high and hot, but there was enough of a breeze to keep the perspiration off his forehead. After his little sojourn inside Grandma Connell's furnace of a house this morning, Matt relished any respite from perspiration. He climbed out of his Alpha and took a quick turn around the yellow Bird, noting the oxidized paint, cracked upholstery and balding tires. The family brassworks, it appeared, was not the only thing Joanne was attempting to run into the ground.
Matt walked along the path to the front offices. He took the stairs up onto the porch slowly, one step at a time—would his damn knees ever recover? He pulled on the bell cord and knocked several times, but there was no answer. Cupping his hands over the glass front, he peered inside. Everything looked familiar: the faded wallpaper, the rack of time cards in the hall, the banistered stair-well leading up to Grandpa's private office. Everything looked the same, even the old rag rugs looked the same.
He rapped on the glass. “Joanne…Jo, you in there?”
Still no answer. Matt navigated the porch steps once again and headed for one of the molding bays. Then he noticed someone in the distance, standing on the pier—someone thin, with long brown hair. He walked onto the pier reluctantly.
The breeze seemed stronger out over the water, yet not strong enough to bother the gulls. Several of them were hovering to Matt's left, shadowing him, no doubt hoping for a scrap of bait or a discarded catch of the day. That was one of the fond memories of this place for Matt—fishing off the end of the pier with his grandpa Connell, when the last of the sun had gilded the water, and the long, hard hours of work at the foundry were softened in retrospection.
Joanne saw him now. Although she didn't say anything, he could tell she wasn't exactly surprised by his presence. Matt continued his slow progress to her side, cursing the circumstances which had brought him here, and silently wishing he were anyplace else.
“Cousin Joanne… Fancy meeting you here.” Joanne didn't bother hiding her displeasure. She ignored his attempt to break the ice.
“You don't really expect me to be happy about this, do you, Matt?”
He shifted his weight from one painful knee to another. “There is no ‘this,’ Jo. Bea is just concerned, that's all. Concerned about the brassworks. She asked me to look into—”
“Cut the bull, Matt. She asked you to take over.”
Joanne was facing him squarely, and Matt was struck by how very much like Grandma Connell his cousin looked: same determined bearing, same lean features, same flint-brown hair and dark gray eyes—except that Grandma Connell's eyes always softened when Matt was around. Joanne's had turned to uncompromising stone.
“You've made a lot of people uncomfortable, Jo,” said Matt. “The way I hear it, you've been alienating employees, distributors—just about anybody who crosses your path. Production is down. Morale is gone. The company's running in the red for the first time in five decades.”
For just a moment, Joanne's face got a pinched look, as if she had to protect herself from this litany of facts. But then her expression grew stubborn again.
“Bea asked me to take charge after Grandpa died. No one else was willing to do it. And later— after the crash—” Joanne's voice caught for a second, although she lost none of her belligerent attitude. “Even then I kept the company going. You weren't around to do it So now I'll run the brassworks as I damn well please.” She paused, swept a derogatory gaze over him. “What's the matter, Matt? After all this time, does Bea expect you to come in here and start throwing your money all over the place? Your father did leave you quite an inheritance, didn't he?”
It wasn't just Joanne's mocking tone that got under Matt's skin. It was the mention of his inheritance—something else he'd never felt comfortable with.
“You've suddenly started running the place into the ground, Jo. Why? You're not stupid.”
The breeze snarled Joanne's hair, and she brushed it out of her face in disgust. “What does Bea think, Matt? That you're going to ride in on a white horse and save the place for her? But coming to the rescue isn't really your strong point, is it?”
Matt saw the sorrow and anger in his cousin's eyes, heard the accusation in her voice. But he'd accused himself a hundred times over. There wasn't anything Joanne could say that would make it any worse.
“Leave, Matt. Just get the hell out, before you destroy the rest of this family, too.” Her voice was cold.
Matt would like nothing better than to leave. But for Bea's sake, he would stay. At least for now.
TWICE IN ONE DAY. Unfortunately, in a small town like Hurricane Beach, running into Matt Connell again shouldn't have taken Lisa by surprise. But it did.
This time she was with Patrick, and they had just entered the Oyster Palace. Matt was there ahead of them, waiting to be seated.
Lisa stared at his back, at the dark hair curling over his collar. For a moment she felt almost disoriented, as if time had shifted and she was sixteen again, praying that Matt would notice her. Then, perhaps sensing her gaze, he turned. His eyes flickered over her impassively, scarcely seeming to acknowledge her. Once more, she sensed the aloofness in him, the separateness. Even in this crowded restaurant, he seemed someone apart, unmindful of the bustle and chatter that surrounded him.
He made no effort to speak to Lisa, as if he considered their one encounter this morning sufficient. His indifference goaded her.
“Hello, Matt,” she said deliberately.
“Hello, Lisa.” The faintest irony tinged his voice. He gazed at her, his manner as reticent as before.
“Hi, there. I'm Patrick Dannon.”
Lisa realized guiltily that she'd actually forgotten about Patrick for a few moments. “This is Matt Connell,” she said, although she wondered why she'd even bothered to introduce him. He was making it clear he didn't care for social amenities of any kind. He shook Patrick's hand briefly, giving a slight nod.
Patrick, of course, was not deterred. “Nice town you have here,” he said magnanimously. “It's my first visit.”
It was a respectable conversation opener, but Matt didn't take it—didn't say a word.
“Matt isn't from Hurricane Beach,” she said, hearing the sharpness in her own voice.
Patrick looked intrigued. “No? I thought maybe the two of you went to school together, something like that.”
“We didn't.” She said the words with a finality that she hoped would discourage Patrick. But it was Matt who spoke.
“I never went to school here,” he said. “I was only down for the summers.”
“Ah…a summer person,” Patrick remarked. “How about that. But it's the same up in Danfield. Danfield, Connecticut—that's where Lisa and I live. As soon as June hits, the town fills. Tourists, workers trying to escape the city. Too bad there's always resentment between the newcomers and the townspeople.”
“Too bad,” Matt agreed. And his gaze flickered over Lisa again. She couldn't think of a word to say, but thankfully the hostess came up to tell Matt his table was ready. Lisa watched as he moved away without so much as a backward glance.
“That's him, isn't it?” Patrick said sotto voce.
“Him…what?” Lisa knew she wasn't listening very well. But she didn't like feeling this way. Seeing Matt a second time had shaken her. Under ordinary circumstances, she wasn't easily rattled by anything.
“The-old boyfriend,” Patrick said, still conspiratorial. “The one that's had you in a tizz all day.”
She gave Patrick an aggravated glance. “It really is true. Without your stores to manage, you don't have enough to occupy your mind. And I haven't been in a ‘tizz,’ as you so adroitly put it.”
Patrick offered his good-natured smile and laced his fingers through hers. “You must've really had a thing for the guy. Why not just admit it? What's the big deal?”
Patrick's hand was warm and dry in Lisa's. He never suffered from sweaty palms, even in this Florida heat. That was another of his good qualities, Lisa told herself.
“You're the one who's making a big deal,” she said. “Just let it go.”
“If we ran into an old girlfriend of mine, I'd expect you to be curious. I'd figure you'd want to know every detail.”
“Fine,” Lisa said quickly. “Let's talk about your girlfriends. You can tell me about the first one you ever had.”
Patrick gave her a careful perusal. “So…this Matt Connell was the first, eh? That's always the one who gets to you. No wonder you're in a tizz.”
Lisa clamped her mouth shut before she could say something rude and unflattering about Patrick minding his own business. It wouldn't do any good, anyway. With Patrick, the more she protested, the more he'd try to wring the truth from her.
But no one—not even Matt—knew the truth about that summer sixteen years ago. And Lisa intended to keep it that way.
She felt a heaviness deep inside. Every now and then an ache of sadness would come over her like this, as if she were a soldier who had never quite recovered from battle wounds. But somehow, she always managed to push the ache aside, and go on with her life.
At last the hostess came to seat Lisa and Patrick at their own table. Lisa was glad they were some distance from Matt, who sat in one of the booths by the window, staring at his menu. Lisa concentrated on a menu, too, debating whether to have the crab cakes, or the shrimp.
“The guy's not the friendliest type, is he?” Patrick said, leaning back comfortably in his chair.
“If you're talking about Matt—I wouldn't really know.” Her tone was carefully neutral. “I haven't exactly kept in touch with him over the years.”
“A first love never does end well,” Patrick remarked sagely. “Regrets, recriminations—”
Lisa realized she was clenching the menu. “Okay, Patrick,” she said. “Go ahead and tell me about your first love. That's what you've wanted to talk about all along, isn't it?”
“Nah…I figure yours is probably a whole lot more interesting.” Patrick gave her a wink and disappeared behind his menu.
Lisa reminded herself that Patrick had been like this before…aware of the subjects' that rankle the most, and taking advantage of them. Teasing her. If he didn't push it too far, it was actually an endearing quality.
Again, she reminded herself of his many other good qualities. Look at him now—being polite and pleasant to the waiter as he ordered a bottle of wine. Lisa had dated men who treated waiters with hardly any civility. It was something that had always made her cringe. But Patrick was unfailingly cordial to everyone, as if he wanted the world at large to share his contentment. That was another of his admirable traits—Patrick was a happy person. He'd fought hard to achieve something in his life, and he was pleased with the results. So why did she feel so unsatisfied around him, so easily annoyed by his idiosyncrasies.
Lisa's gaze strayed unwillingly across the restaurant toward Matt. From the grim outline of his features, he did not appear to be a satisfied person. She couldn't help wondering what his life had been like all this time.
“You're right,” Patrick said. “The guy looks lonely, sitting over there all by himself. Shame, isn't it? You know, Lisa… may be he's thinking about you, as much as you're thinking about him.”
Lisa snapped her menu shut. “Patrick,” she said. “What game are you trying to play? You might as well tell me now, so we can get it over with.”
Patrick looked serious all of a sudden. “Game…it's not exactly a game, is it, Lisa? Let me tell you how I see it. These past few months we've started to get serious about each other. At least, I've started to get serious about you. But you know how I've been feeling? Like I'm in one of those romantic movies, only I can't figure out if I'm the lead, or an extra. The setting's right, everything's conducive to a love affair…but perhaps I'm not the hero.”
All Lisa could do was stare at him. He didn't seem quite so contented anymore. He seemed puzzled, maybe even a little hurt.
“Don't be ridiculous,” she said. “You and I have a perfectly good relationship going here.”
“I guess I'd like to know that for sure. I'd like to know exactly how you feel about me.” For once, Patrick wasn't putting on a genial front. The gravity of his expression disconcerted Lisa.
“We agreed we'd take things one step at a time,” she reminded him. “And I thought we were doing pretty well—”
“Something's holding you back from me, Lisa. Something deep and buried. Something from your past. Maybe it's even this guy, Matt Connell. If it is, I'd like to find out.”
She was starting to feel angry, not to mention indignant. “We're talking about someone I knew fifteen years ago,” she said. “I was only a kid. Just forget about it, Patrick.”
“Afraid I can't do that. But don't worry—I'll be right back.” He'd left his chair and was moving across the room before Lisa had a chance to react. With a feeling akin to horror, she watched as he went straight toward Matt Connell.
He stood beside Matt, talking and gesturing back at Lisa. It was all too obvious what he was doing: inviting Matt to join them.
“No, “ Lisa whispered, and the sixteen-year-old she'd been overtook her again, agonizing that she might come off to some disadvantage in Matt Connell's eyes.
She wasn't sixteen anymore. She was thirty-one. But the sensations were exactly the same: the dread and the hope colliding with each other until she had the crazy urge to stand up and walk straight out of the restaurant.
No. She would sit right here, calm and in control. She would not allow Matt Connell to come between her and any chance she had for a good, stable relationship. She would prove that to Patrick, no matter what it took.
Meanwhile, she saw Matt listen to Patrick, then give a plain shrug. The gesture seemed to imply that it made no difference to him where he sat…so why not accept Patrick's invitation? A few seconds later, both men walked toward Lisa.
Seeing them side by side, comparisons became inevitable. They were both roughly the same height, but Patrick's lankiness contrasted with Matt's more muscular build. Patrick wore one of his crisp white shirts and khaki shorts; Matt wore jeans and a blue shirt that was a tad rumpled. Patrick had an inquiring, interested look on his face; Matt's expression was reserved. He gave the impression he'd traveled to some dark place which had left its shadow upon him. Lisa felt a strange foreboding. What had happened with Matt during all these years?
Both men reached the table and sat down, one to either side of Lisa.
“This is much better,” Patrick said. “As I was telling Matt, the two of you haven't seen each other in a while, so why not take the opportunity to catch up?”
Lisa gave Patrick a warning glance, then turned to Matt. “How have you been?” she asked dryly.
“Fine. And you?” The sardonic edge to his voice matched her own.
“Fine.”
Patrick raised his eyebrows expressively. He seemed about to say something, but the waiter came back just then to take their orders. Lisa said a silent thank-you for that; she didn't trust Patrick right now. Although she didn't feel particularly hungry, she ordered the avocado salad and the shrimp.
“You go ahead—you're next,” Patrick said expansively to Matt. “I have to think about it a little.”
Matt ordered the smoked salmon, and Patrick, meanwhile, was still thinking about it a little.
“I guess I could risk the oysters,” Patrick said. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
Lisa felt like crawling under the table. Patrick was laying it on thick with the “sweetheart” business—what was he up to now? “Don't have the oysters,” she answered. “Remember… you weren't feeling well earlier.” She glanced at Matt, silently defying him to say anything at all.
Matt simply looked back at her, the expression in his blue-gray eyes unreadable.
“Everybody should live dangerously once in a while,” Patrick said, and proceeded to order the oysters. When the waiter went off, he settled back in his chair.
“Oysters for dinner,” he pronounced. “A perfect way to follow spaghetti for lunch. Lisa's sister makes great spaghetti, but you probably already know that.”
“Actually, no,” Matt said. “I hardly met any of Lisa's family.”
“No kidding. Somehow I got the impression the two of you knew each other well.”
Lisa could feel the strain radiating down into her neck and shoulders. “No,” she said. “We never knew each other well.”
Matt's eyes seemed to darken, and his gaze captured hers. She knew, without a doubt, that he was remembering the one way they had known each other…very well. She couldn't look away, and she felt the blood heating her face.
“Well,” Patrick said, his tone speculative, “I guess I've misunderstood, all around. Tell me how the two of you met, anyway.”
To Lisa, his voice seemed to come from a distance. She picked up her water glass, noted with dismay that her fingers were trembling and hastily set down the glass again. And still she could not look away from Matt.
He leaned back in his chair, but he did not appear relaxed like Patrick. A certain tension never seemed to leave his muscles. “I joined an aviation club that summer,” he said. “So did Lisa.”
He didn't mention the fact that Lisa had joined only because she'd learned he would be there. Of course, how could Matt have known? She'd never told him.
“Lisa, I didn't know you were interested in air-planes and all that,” Patrick said, making it sound as if she'd concealed some vital piece of information from him.
“It was a very long time ago,” she said. “I never actually learned to fly.” Deep down, she'd been terrified of flying—whether as passenger or pilot. But it was something that fascinated Matt, and so she'd pretended to be fascinated, too.
“Well,” Patrick said. “You go along, thinking you know somebody, and then something new pops out. Something you never even suspected.”
“It was a very long time ago,” Lisa repeated. Matt regarded her solemnly.
“Yes. It was,” he agreed.
Patrick glanced at each of them in turn, a lively look on his face. Annoyance stirred in Lisa all over again. Matt unsettled her, yes, but surely that reaction was only a sort of aftershock, an echo of long-ago tumult. Perhaps that was only natural, something to be expected when you encountered your first love—adolescent, immature love, she reminded herself. No doubt the effect would wear off soon, and Lisa could go back to being her normal, adult self.
The food arrived, and Lisa was grateful for something to occupy herself with. Matt, too, seemed to find eating enough of a task. But Patrick, despite the attention required by the oysters, found plenty of opportunity to talk.
“So, Matt. Are you back in town to visit the old haunts? That type of thing?”
“I have some business to wrap up.” He ignored Patrick's inquiring glance, and did not elaborate on what his business might be.
“I'm in the security game, myself,” Patrick said. “Dead-bolt Dannon, that's me, of Dannon Safes and Locks.”
Matt didn't say a word, and again Lisa felt like disappearing under the table. Another of Patrick's habits—he'd poke a bit of fun at himself, let you know his silly nickname, but at the same time he'd give you the impression that he took himself very seriously indeed. He was doing that right now, but to what purpose?
“Lisa's made quite a success of herself,” he went on.
“Patrick,” she said, cautioning him. He ignored her.
“Single-handedly, she started up a foundation for pregnant teenagers. Nothing impersonal about it, either. It's a group home. Psychological counseling, job training, the works. Lisa never tackles any project by half measures.”
“It hasn't been single-handed,” Lisa said. “I have a partner. We work together on everything.” She didn't go on, because she hated talking about this in front of Matt. What interest could he possibly have in her life now? But he was gazing at her again, thoughtfully this time.
“Lisa doesn't like it when I brag about her. But I'm proud of her.” Patrick placed his hand over hers on the table. It was the type of gesture you'd expect from the man in your life. And suddenly Lisa understood what Patrick was up to. He didn't just want to analyze the interaction between herself and Matt. He also wanted to make clear to Matt his own claim on Lisa. She's mine, he seemed to be saying. If you want her, you'll have to fight for her. There was something touching about Patrick's attitude. Nonetheless, it took all of Lisa's willpower not to yank her hand away from his.
Patrick was going on, “If you want to know the truth, Lisa's stubborn about her work. Sure, she has a partner, and she'll let volunteers take up some of the slack—but forget it when it comes to money. She's dangling from a financial shoestring, but she won't let me or anyone else help her out.”
Lisa stared at Patrick. Now she did pull her hand away from his. “Patrick, this is personal. I'm sure Matt doesn't want to hear about it.”
Matt, however, was watching Lisa and Patrick as if he found both of them amusing, but not worth a great deal of his attention. It was his disinterest that piqued her the most. One or two sarcastic remarks came to mind, but she checked them in time. The worst thing she could do right now would be to let Matt know he'd gotten to her.
“You should hear how Lisa and I met,” Patrick said.
“I'm sure Matt doesn't want to—”
“She came into my shop—the one in Danfield proper—saying she needed the locks changed at her house. Usually I have one of my technicians do the job, but this time I handled it. Installed the locks for her personally…and then I asked her out. You know what impressed me the most? The fact that she said yes, even though she really thought I was just a technician. She didn't know yet that I owned the business.” Once again, Patrick took her hand and squeezed it affectionately. She had always hated it when couples shared intimate, personal details of their courtship with any passing acquaintance, yet now it seemed she and Patrick were doing just that. Before she knew it, they'd be showing vacation photos and home movies to a somnolent audience.
She glanced at Matt. He showed no outward reaction of any kind, but somehow she sensed that he knew exactly what she was feeling. She couldn't explain it, but some unspoken recognition passed between them.
Confusion swirled through her. For that second alone, she'd felt pulled back into the intense, private world she and Matt had once shared. But that world had been a treacherous place.
Gradually she became aware once more of Patrick's hand covering hers. Suddenly she felt disloyal to him. They'd been dating almost six months. And recently they had become much more serious about each other. They were a couple. And so, if they did all the silly, obnoxious couple sort of things…fine. Good. Who cared what Matt Connell thought? He was no longer a part of her life. This encounter with him was something chance, something fleeting. What she had with Patrick was meant to last.
She squeezed Patrick's hand in return. She might have been a bit too forceful about it, though, because he gave her another speculative look.
Matt continued to watch the two of them with that detached expression. Then he nudged away his plate of half-eaten food. “I have to be going,” he said.
“I hear they have great desserts here,” Patrick said. “Stick around a while.”
Matt simply pulled out his wallet and extracted some cash.
“Hey, dinner's on me,” Patrick said.
“I'll handle it.” Matt spoke with quiet authority. He left the cash on the table, then rose to his feet. He shook hands briefly with Patrick, and then he gazed at Lisa.
“Goodbye,” he murmured. The word had a finality about it, implying no “see you around,” no “catch you later.” Then Matt turned and walked away. Lisa stared after him, knowing there was no reason to feel this turmoil inside, this unnamed yearning.
After all, Matt Connell had walked out of her life years ago.