Chapter Five

“It’s two weeks, Ma, not two months.” Bev hauled out the huge, battered suitcase and threw it on the sunny-yellow quilt on her mother’s bed.

The little white cottage she and her mother shared sat at the end of a maple-lined lane in the historic section of Salem. The pedestrian-only street was narrow, and cobblestones dotted through, though the city had tried to cover them many years ago. She loved the peace the evenings and cold winters brought when the tourists left town. She loved the warm summers when they descended again with music from concerts in the park and the smell of fried fish filling the salty air. She figured that meant she’d found her place. She belonged.

In the end, it hadn’t been as difficult to convince her mother to take the time off as they’d thought. But normal people didn’t just jet off to Aruba. Plans had to be made and shoes needed to be bought. She made all the arrangements from her laptop and praised Jesus for online reservations. Her mother had taken three days to decide what to pack, a fact she found both endearing and irritating.

“I don’t know what kind of weather to expect.” Reggie picked up two different shoes.

“It’s called weather-dot-com. You should try it sometime.”

“I’m about as accurate at predicting weather as those people. Can’t figure out why they call it a science.” Reggie pushed a fall of auburn hair off her forehead. Her coloring was almost exactly like her mother’s. Bev was told she looked like the Winslow side of the family. Lucky her.

“Speaking of science, I finished all the invoices and updated the website,” Reggie said. “I entered the paragraph you wrote on overfishing and also included some pictures of the ten-pound lobster Joe caught.”

“Great idea, Ma.” She didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. “Atlantic Charters doesn’t believe in over fishing, but we love a good lobster dinner.”

Her mother sniffed. “Keep laughing; if we don’t get rid of some of the surplus lobster population, both the environment and the economy will take a hit. Besides, we donated that lobster to the New England Aquarium, which I also noted on the website.”

“I’m sorry. It just struck me as funny.”

“Guess what isn’t funny, missy?” Her mother folded a blue sundress and placed it in the suitcase. “A person who regularly doesn’t finish and publish her blog posts, that’s what isn’t funny.”

“I’ll do it tonight,” she promised as she fidgeted with the edge of the quilt.

“Since you always keep your promises, you’ll do it.” Her mother rubbed her shoulder. “This has been difficult for you as well, honey.”

“What has?” She was afraid of the answer.

“Reginald was your grandpa, Bevie.” Her mother’s voice thickened. “I like to think the two of you would have gotten along well. God knows he would have been proud of you.” Reggie sat on the bed. “It’s a sad thing to be without family.”

“You aren’t without family, Ma.” She gritted her teeth. “And how you can call a man ‘family’ when he kicked you out of the only home you ever knew is beyond me.” She started folding clothes that didn’t need folding.

“You misunderstand. I feel bad for my father because he died not meeting you, honey. It’s Reginald who missed out on the privilege of watching you grow into the amazing woman you are today. That’s the tragedy to me.”

She had no words for moments like these, when her mother’s pride in her overwhelmed her. She didn’t deserve it, especially when she was keeping something so huge from her.

Reggie stood, faced her. Placing her soft hands on Bev’s cheeks, she said, “You have some things to figure out. I have some things to figure out too, which is why I didn’t balk when you and Joe cooked up this asinine idea about a trip to the Caribbean for two weeks…as if anyone needs to be away that long.” Her mother shook her head. “The whole thing is just plain weird.”

She held her mother’s hands, lowered them. “Ma, I’m not the only one with weird ideas. Both you and Joe deserve a break, even if you think you don’t. And two weeks isn’t nearly long enough. Not only that, you need to grieve.” She gently squeezed her mother’s hand when she saw she was about to protest. “You do. I may not understand or even agree. But he was your dad. So, you need some time.”

“You don’t understand, baby girl. You think it’s strange I should still care about my father in any capacity. I wish I could be more like you. You’ve always had excellent perspective.” Reggie lifted a shoulder. “I’m a work in progress.”

“Ma, what you are is wonderful.” Bev hugged her mother. “You always want to see the good and you forgive easily. I should learn from you…not be so hard on people.”

“You’re just cautious. That isn’t always a bad thing either. I just wish you wouldn’t use my past mistakes as a gauge for all relationships. Not all men are like Chuck Devon. I worry you’ll completely miss out on all the delicious parts of life if you don’t get out there and meet some people.” Reggie nudged her daughter. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, Ma. I really do.”

“You could date more than one man at a time…” Reggie said.

“Ma, you got two men, you got two problems.” She wagged her eyebrows, drawing a laugh from her mother. “Maybe it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

“If you say that and mean it, you haven’t had any truly yummy moments with the right man, my baby girl. But you will. I’m sure of it,” Reggie said. “There has to be one man out there who isn’t stupid enough to let you keep him at arm’s length.”

She didn’t like it, but the annoying Finn Callahan jumped into her thoughts at that moment. Nope, she did not like it one bit. He was sexy as hell, but so off-limits.

Reggie placed her hand on Bev’s forehead. “Why are you flushed?”

“I’m good. Worried about you.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

“I just need time. I’ll be better when I’m packed and ready to go. Give your old mother a hand picking out a pair of sandals?”

She laughed. “Old? Yeah, right. You give me a run most days. But seriously, why do you insist on making me help you play dress-up?”

“We wear boots and button-downs seven days a week. Deep down we’re still girls and we want to feel pretty.” Her mother lifted a slender shoulder, looked at Bev’s faded jeans, and rolled her eyes. “Plus, you could use the practice.”

She followed the direction of her mother’s gaze and noted the horribly scuffed leather work boots and her faded flannel shirt. She sighed. “Unfortunately, you’re right.”

****

Bev didn’t think about her lack of fashion sense for too long. She had two good pairs of shoes—flats and heels. She also owned an excellent name brand suit that served her well for the rare business meeting.

She wasn’t dating, so that aspect of her wardrobe didn’t need tweaking either. She was woman enough to admit she wished she had the time or reason to wear something fabulous, but she was also too practical to waste time dwelling.

She waved off Joe and her mother from the front porch of her cottage, and then sat heavily on her porch swing. A little chilly yet to sit out in the evenings, but the midday sun sparkled on the tiny sliver of water she could see down her lane.

Tomorrow she had to go into Boston and meet the people she shared DNA with. Tomorrow she had to put on the pretty suit and pretend to care what that crazy old man had doled out to his grasping heirs. Her stomach had the jangly feeling she got when she drank too much coffee, but it wasn’t caffeine bothering her. She refused to give in to the nerves. Those people wouldn’t intimidate her. She wouldn’t let them.

She rubbed her jeans and generated some warmth. It was getting cooler with a little wind off the water. She hoped Mother Nature stayed kind. The business was finally thriving. She’d made the last payment to the bank and now owned everything free and clear. She’d hated going into so much debt to start out and wouldn’t do it again. Atlantic Charters could actually invest in some much-needed capital expenses, like a laptop for her mom or the boat she’d sent Joe to look at. Determined to put aside the dark thoughts, she rose, almost missing the man walking up her steps.

“Hello, Beverly.”

There was no mistaking the greasy smooth voice. She closed her eyes, then forced herself to meet his. “Chuck. It’s been awhile.”

She swallowed back the shaky voice as he walked onto the plank porch. His gray suit was bespoke. The pale blue tie matched his eyes perfectly. This, she knew, was by design. Gray hair at his temples showed age, but with it an air of distinction. She waited. He’d get to the point quick enough.

“I’ve asked you to stop calling me that. My name is Charles. I think a more appropriate title would be Dad.”

The hint of South in his voice gave him a genteel and kind air, which was a direct contradiction to his actual personality. This took most people quite a while to recognize. That made her father a very successful con man.

“You’ll always be ‘Chuck’ to me. Just because you got a debutante pregnant twenty-eight years ago doesn’t make you anyone’s father. You were a stable boy grasping for a big payday, and simply because you’ve added some polish doesn’t make you any different now.” She shook her head. “Jesus, I hate clichés, and you, Chuck, are a giant cliché.” She clenched her fists. “I assume, since I haven’t seen you in almost two years, you are here to blackmail me again?”

“Must you always go on the attack? Your mother forgave me. Why can’t you?”

“Call it a character flaw.” She tried to sound strong, but he’d hit the right nerve. He always did. “You promised: stay away from Reggie.”

The bastard smiled. “We’ll see.”

She remained standing as her father took a seat in the rocker on the other side of the little porch.

“Tell me what you want, then get lost.”

“In my own time.” Chuck steepled his fingers. “I noticed your mother left today. Packed up with that mongrel of a lobster-man and took off for parts unknown.”

“Mongrel?” She clenched her fists again, and then just as quickly forced herself to relax. He would not rattle her. “That’s hilarious coming from you.”

“I can trace my lineage back to the Mayflower, young lady.”

She laughed. “Yeah, who’d you pay to falsify those records? Anything to seem legit, huh?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh well, it really doesn’t matter.” She tried for breezy. “Really, Chuck, I’m busy. Just stop the con and bottom-line it for me.”

“I asked where your mother went.” He took a cigar—probably a Cuban—from his inside jacket pocket.

“I chose not to answer. Now, if you want cash, you need to make it quick. I’m running late for a meeting,” she lied.

“I didn’t come back for money, sweetheart.” This was new. Her heart hammered in her chest. He was changing the game.

“I came to congratulate you on your grandfather’s death.”

“You can fake the Mayflower lineage but certainly not the good manners.” A breeze rolled in, but she refused to hug herself to ward off the chill. “It’s in poor taste to congratulate anyone for a death in the family. Reginald made sure Reggie and I weren’t part of his family.”

The lawyer told her no one knew the true contents of the will yet, so she wasn’t particularly concerned. Chuck had tried to get more money from Reginald all those years ago and had come up dry. He moved on to Reggie at that point, coming in and out of their lives for whatever he could take her for.

For a while, he had simply disappeared. She knew this had something to do with the second mortgage her mother had taken out on the cottage when she was thirteen. The minute she graduated from Brown, he’d started to hit her up for cash, this time promising to leave Reggie alone. She would pay anything for that, and he knew it. He thinks I’m going to be rich, she suddenly realized, and for the first time she smiled.

“Rest assured, Chuck; Reginald didn’t leave me any money.”

Her father shrugged, still holding the unlit cigar he seemed to be using as a prop. “That may or may not be true, but he was strange about family. He probably left your mother something.” He waited a beat before adding, “Either way, someone should convince her to contest the will. If she didn’t get her inheritance the first time, something tells me she’ll get paid eventually. The press would be more than sympathetic to her story, don’t you think? An unwed mother cast aside by her billionaire father almost thirty years ago and left out of the will. They’ll eat it up.” He grinned and then laughed outright. “You know who won’t find it so tasty? Your auntie Serena.”

“And your play, Chuck?” She pushed down the nausea and the tears. He was despicable, and there was nothing she could do.

“Oh, I’m just a concerned citizen. I want to see your mother get what she deserves is all.”

“And if Reggie gets her share, you’ll come a calling for a piece.”

“A significant piece, my darling daughter,” he confirmed. “I am, after all, family.”

“And if Reggie doesn’t contest?”

“Someone should alert the media a great injustice is being perpetuated by a member of the one percent. Your auntie Serena guards her reputation like the Hope Diamond. One potential flaw, and she will pay to make it all go away.”

He rose from the rocker and placed the cigar back in his pocket. His fingers reminded her of a spider’s legs. Finally, he sauntered up to her, inches from her face. He used those long, nasty fingers to reach for her throat, squeezed. “It will be easy for you to make your mother see reason. Word is, the will reading is coming up.” He squeezed a bit harder, finally released her, and then kissed her cheek. “I’ll be in touch.”

She didn’t move until after she’d watched him walk all the way down her lane to the center of town, take a left on Main Street, and then disappear. She lowered herself to her chair and let the tears come.