Chapter Seventeen
On the second to last day of December, Michael sat at the table in Jillian’s dining room alcove, working on his laptop to refine the plans for his parents’ reno. Cole sprawled on the floor using his Young Architect kit to design the kind of house he thought Harry Potter would like to live in.
The door to the apartment opened and Freckles, who’d been dozing near Cole, jumped up with a bark. Jillian’s voice called, “Anyone home?”
“Hi, Mom! We’re in here.”
Michael looked up as she entered the room, her cheeks pink from the cold, pulling a long blue scarf from around her neck and looking too damned beautiful. Remaining “just friends” was sheer hell. “Did the flight go okay?” he asked. Fog had delayed the departure of her morning flight to Vancouver.
“Great. There were only wisps of fog, making the scenery moody and beautiful.”
“We’ve eaten lunch,” he said, “but we left some for you.”
“Chicken and rice soup,” Cole said enthusiastically, “with PB and RJ sandwiches.”
“How did I know that?” Jillian joked.
Michael had been skeptical when Cole introduced him to his favorite lunch, but he’d become a fan. When you dipped a peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich into chicken and rice soup, culinary magic happened. “And carrots and apples,” Michael added, to let her know he was making sure their son got his veggies and fruit. He glanced at the computer screen, where he’d been right in the middle of something.
“Go back to work,” she said.
“Thanks, I’m just . . .” As he clicked the mouse, he lost track of what he’d been saying.
Engrossed in the design, he was only vaguely aware of Jillian returning to the table to eat her soup and sandwich, then going back to the kitchen and then into the living room. He was also only marginally aware of Cole on the floor, as involved in his project as Michael was in his.
Jillian’s voice broke his focus. “You’re two peas in a pod and not the best company.”
He gazed up at her, where she sat in a recliner with a book. “Sorry. When I’m caught up in something, I can lose track of the world around me.” Although now she was in his field of vision, he wondered how he could ever find anything more fascinating than this woman with her curvy body, bright eyes, and expression of mild annoyance. “You have the afternoon off,” he remembered. “We should all do something. Cole?”
When his son didn’t look up, he raised his voice. “Hey, Cole!”
The boy raised his head. “Huh?”
“You can work on that later.” Outside the window, it was cloudy but not raining. “Let’s go out somewhere.”
Cole tilted his head. “The beach? Freckles loves to chase sticks.”
The dog, who’d seemed to be sleeping, leaped to his feet, tail wagging madly.
Michael grinned at the boy and dog. “Sounds good to me.” He turned to Jillian. “Does that work for you?”
“If the two of you wash the dog when we come back.”
“Sure,” he said, having learned that Freckles didn’t hold back when he explored his environment.
“Sunset Cove?” Cole asked.
“Okay,” Jillian said. “It’s near the northwest end of the island,” she told Michael.
It didn’t take them long to get organized, and soon they were in Jillian’s old minivan with her in the driver’s seat, Michael beside her, and Cole and the dog behind them.
Michael had learned that Destiny Island formed a rough hourglass, the top portion smaller and less populated. Blue Moon Harbor was at the south end. One main road ran roughly up the middle of the island and he’d been on it before, noting how undeveloped Destiny was. The main industry was tourism, followed by agriculture, fishing, and the arts, so they passed a lot of farmland and fields of sheep as well as signs for artisan studios.
Sunset Cove, located on the ocean, consisted of three or four shops, a pub, and roughly three dozen houses. He noted the disparate styles of architecture, always looking for ideas.
Jillian turned left onto a narrow, tree-lined road called Orca Song Drive. Here and there a driveway, most of them unpaved, meandered off into the trees toward what he guessed were waterfront homes. She took a narrow dirt-and-gravel track, and came out not at a house but at a dead end. There was room enough to park three or four cars, but theirs was the only vehicle.
When they’d climbed out, Freckles raced ahead to a trail through the trees. Cole followed, then Jillian and then Michael, single file. Carpeted with soggy leaves and pine needles, the trail came out ten feet above a long stretch of beach that curved gently between two rocky points. Logs were scattered along the shore and most of the beach was made up of rocks and pebbles, but there was also an arc of grayish brown sand. The cloudy sky gave everything a pewter tone Michael found artistically appealing.
“Good,” Jillian said. “It’s low tide.”
“Nice beach. I didn’t see a sign for it.”
“It’s the islanders’ secret one. It’s not on the tourist maps.”
The place was deserted but for a man and a black dog. Freckles had already scampered down the last zigzag of trail to the beach and was racing to greet the other dog. The two barked, tails wagging, and began what looked like a game of tag. Jillian, who’d brought her Nikon, clicked off a couple of shots.
As she and Michael trailed Cole down to the beach, the man raised a hand in greeting and they waved back. But rather than come toward them, he strode away, calling something that got lost on the wind. His dog broke off playing, stared after him, and then trotted in his wake.
“Not very sociable,” Michael commented as Freckles ran back to rejoin them.
“He’s reclusive,” Jillian said. “Some of the islanders are like that. Destiny’s a good place for eccentrics. Don’t tell a soul, but that’s Kellan Hawke, a successful thriller writer.”
Flattered that she’d shared this secret, as well as the islanders’ special beach, he said, “Huh. I saw his books on the local author table at the bookstore.” He’d noted the author’s name, to maybe buy one for his e-reader for the flight home. “They looked—”
“Come on, Dad,” Cole, who’d picked up a sturdy stick, broke in impatiently.
Michael and Jillian followed the boy across the hard-packed sand to the water’s edge, where Cole threw the stick as hard as he could into the ocean. The spotted dog flew after it, splashing into the water and swimming to fetch the stick. When Freckles swam back, Michael would swear he was grinning around his prize. The water must not be as cold as it looked.
It was, though. He found that out when the dog dropped the stick at Cole’s feet and shook energetically, spraying the boy and Michael with icy droplets. Jillian, who’d stepped back a few feet and aimed her camera, laughed. “Don’t know much about dogs, do you, Toronto boy?”
“It’s true. I never had a pet.”
In his jeans pocket, his cell phone pulsed. He pulled it out to check. “Sorry, I should take this. It’s my mom. We’ve been playing phone tag since Christmas.”
“Of course,” Jillian said. He knew that his relationship with his parents seemed odd to her, and that she was concerned about how they’d react once he got back home and told them about Cole.
Stepping away from her and his son, he tapped the phone and held it to his ear. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, Michael. Thanks for calling at Christmas. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to connect.”
“Not a problem.” He’d walked down the beach and now turned to watch Cole heave the stick into the ocean again. Freckles raced after it, flinging himself into the cold water just as enthusiastically as he had the first time. Jillian was squatting down to photograph brown streamers of what he’d learned was kelp.
“I hope you’re having a good holiday, though it doesn’t sound like your usual spot,” his mother continued.
Normally, he chose destinations based on architecture that intrigued him. “It isn’t, but I’m having fun.” Being with Cole, Jillian, and her family made him realize how much he and his parents had missed out on. He’d have to arrange his life to spend more holidays with Cole. It dawned on him that he didn’t know his son’s birthday. He’d be turning eight soon.
“Interesting architectural designs?”
Her question made him refocus. “Eclectic. Everything from cantilevered cedar and glass to tiny A-frames and yurts.”
“Yurts?”
“Octagonal huts. They originated with nomads in Central Asia and those were portable. Now, many are more permanent and the idea’s become trendy. By the way, I’ve almost finished the plans for your renos. Let’s you, Dad, Deepa, and I get together when I’m back after New Year’s.” He’d tell them about Cole and show them the album Jillian had made. He’d deal with the recriminations and questions, and then they’d all figure out how to handle the new reality.
“Good. Speaking of getting together, you haven’t forgotten about the black tie dinner dance next week?”
“Of course not.” He had, but now he remembered telling her he’d attend a hospital event to raise funds to buy some fancy new piece of medical equipment.
“We hope it’ll be good timing. People should still be filled with Christmas generosity as well as New Year’s resolutions. Have you invited a date?”
“Uh, no.” Dressing in a tux, picking up a stylish woman in an evening gown, making polite chat with a bunch of wealthy people while they all ate a fancy six-course dinner, dancing to a small orchestra playing “New York, New York” and “In the Mood” . . . It didn’t sound anywhere near as much fun as this afternoon’s entertainment. Watching Freckles drop the stick and dig up sand with his front feet, spraying it out behind him as a laughing Cole dodged it. Appreciating the curve of Jillian’s fine butt as she hunkered down with her camera.
“Good, because I have someone in mind,” his mother said.
“Are you matchmaking again?” She and his dad, both second generation Canadians, hadn’t had an arranged marriage, but they had been introduced by their parents. Periodically, she tried to interest Michael in some eligible young woman. Her choices were often pretty good and he’d dated two or three of them, after making it clear he wasn’t in the market for marriage.
“She’s an intern. Very smart. And attractive.”
He did a quick mental flip through his contact list, thinking of women he’d dated recently. Was there anyone he’d like to sit beside and dance with?
Now Jillian was shooing Freckles away from a pile of seaweed that he was trying to roll in. She was scolding, laughing, her cheeks pink, her curves partially revealed and partially concealed by those slim-fitting jeans and a down vest worn over a heavy sweater. She’d look dynamite in an evening dress, though likely she didn’t own one.
She was the woman he wanted to be with. But since that wasn’t going to happen, he said, “Fine, Mom. Set it up, if she’s free.” Maybe the woman would be interesting, and if not, at least he’d make his mother happy.
They talked a while longer and he thought how strange it was that, while he loved his parents, it was a rather distant love. It was sad for all of them that he’d never had much in common with his parents, not their interests nor their personalities. Watching Cole romp with the dog, Michael wondered how he’d have felt if, on meeting his son, he’d found they had nothing in common. But they did. He saw himself in this boy. He saw Jillian, too. As well as things that were distinctly Cole.
All of it made him feel connected, protective, and almost fierce in his desire that Cole have a good, happy, healthy life.
He loved his son.
How about that? Watching the kid run down the beach with the dog, Michael grinned widely. When he’d come here, he hadn’t known what outcome he was looking for. But he’d found this special, amazing boy and he’d learned what it was to love your child. Though he and his son might live in different places, he vowed that their love would not be emotionally distant.
Michael’s mom, who’d been talking about a new surgical procedure she’d recently tried, wound up. “I must get back to work. It’s been good talking to you, Michael. Have a happy new year.”
“You too, Mom.” An impulse made him add, “I love you. You and Dad and Deepa.”
The momentary pause made him realize how rarely he said that. “We love you too,” she said, her voice softer than before.
As he put the phone back in his pocket, he again wondered how his mom and dad would react to the news that they were grandparents—and had been for almost eight years. There’d be recriminations and questions. He’d probably end up playing the role of intermediary, trying to make sure his parents stayed involved in Cole’s life without overdoing it. Deepa, he had no concerns about. She would be a loving great-auntie.
Freckles had pelted down the beach, chasing seagulls. It seemed to Michael that the birds were taunting the dog, strolling the shore nonchalantly until Freckles roared up to them, and then at the very last moment soaring into the air.
Cole was crouched over something on the beach, Jillian bending down too with her camera. Michael walked over to see that the subject of their interest was an orange-shelled crab.
The boy straightened. “You were talking to your mom?”
“Yes.”
“Do she and your dad know about me?”
Michael was aware of Jillian standing up too, but he kept his gaze on his son’s face. “Not yet. I’ll tell them as soon as I get home.”
“Will they want to meet me?” he asked hesitantly.
“I’d bet on it. We’ll have to figure out how to make that happen.” His parents were so busy, it wasn’t likely they’d take time off and come to Destiny Island. Maybe Cole could visit Toronto at spring break. Was he old enough to fly alone? Michael could come and get him. Or Jillian could accompany him, if she could get time off from Blue Moon Air. Would it be awkward, Jillian meeting his parents? And where would she stay? Cole could stay with Michael, but having Jillian in his apartment, sleeping down the hall . . . that was way too much temptation.
“Cole, what’s wrong?” Jillian asked.
Michael stopped musing and focused on his son, who was staring down at the beach, kicking at some broken purple shells. “Cole?”
Not looking up, the boy muttered, “I guess you didn’t want me.”
It took a moment to figure out what he meant. “Back when your mom got pregnant?”
His head dipped in a nod.
“I told you about that,” Jillian said. “How your dad and I had such different lives.”
“It’s true,” Michael said. He would never tell his son that he’d assumed Jillian would have an abortion, but he didn’t want to lie to him. “And the fact is that I didn’t want a child. I was nowhere near ready. I was immature and, well, if you’d met me back then, you probably wouldn’t have liked me much.”
The boy’s head tipped up and he studied Michael. “Mom liked you.”
Jillian stepped in again. “You know how babies get made. The best way is when two people love each other very much and want to start a family. But that’s not always how it goes. With your dad and me, we were just casual friends who had fun together. I did like him, but we didn’t know each other well at all. Neither of us intended to create a baby. When we did, we had to figure out how we felt about it.”
“You don’t have to have a baby just because you’re pregnant,” Cole said, surprising Michael by how savvy he was for an almost-eight-year-old.
“That’s right,” she agreed. “But I realized I did want to have a baby. I wanted to have you.”
Cole gazed at her. “You were more mature than him.”
She grinned. “You bet I was.”
“She was,” Michael agreed. “And now that I’ve met you, I’m really glad about that.”
Cole turned to him. “I wondered about you. Mom didn’t tell me much.”
“I didn’t know all that much about him,” she said.
Michael took Cole’s hand and guided him up the beach to a log, where they sat side by side. Jillian came, too, sitting on the other side of Cole. “I didn’t want you,” Michael said, “because I was stupid. And because I didn’t know you. The best thing I’ve ever done in my life was coming to Blue Moon Harbor to meet you.”
Cole cocked his head up. “The best thing?”
“Yes. The absolute best.” He meant that, completely. “Until now, the best thing was getting my architecture firm going. But this is better. You’re better than anything.”
Jillian moved slightly, drawing his attention. She’d raised a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. He gave her a wry smile and turned back to his son. “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out.” He touched the boy’s shoulder. “I love you, Cole.”
His son’s dark eyes appraised him for a long moment, and then he said, “I love you, too, Dad,” and he leaned forward to hug Michael.
Michael enfolded him, closing his own eyes to hold back the tears of joy.
He mustn’t have been successful, because he felt dampness on his cheeks. No, wait, it was starting to rain. He and Cole broke apart, both pulling up the hoods on their rain jackets. Jillian, bare headed, called, “Freckles! Time to go!” Cole ran to meet the dog and the two of them sprinted for the trail.
Jillian broke the no-touching rule by slipping her hand into Michael’s. “That was lovely.”
He nodded. “I meant every word.”
“I know.” Too soon, she released his hand. “Let’s go before we get soaked. Sorry about the weather. You need to come here in summer. Or spring or fall. Winter isn’t our best season.”
“In Toronto, the temperature will barely rise above freezing for months. A little rain feels fine to me.”
“I actually like days like this. Let’s stop at Dreamspinner for takeout hot chocolate, then go home and curl up by the fire.”
The coffee shop was part of the bookstore. “If we’re going to Dreamspinner, I might buy one of Hawke’s books. And read the old-fashioned way for once. Seems like the right thing to do, in front of a wood-burning fire.”
As Jillian smiled at him, he thought that the whole package—fire and book, woman and child, even the wet dog—felt like exactly the right thing.