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The call from Michael came around ten minutes after Wayne left the Bloomingfeld.
Wayne looked at the name, which had, at one time, been so familiar on his phone and felt a stab of sadness and flickers of memories. In the old days, Michael had called him every few days after his work shifts, asking for a drink on the porch, a companion for a horseback ride, or an afternoon on Wayne’s sailboat.
In all the years since Michael had left, Michael hadn’t called Wayne a single time. Obviously, Wayne had dialed the number a few times in the first weeks after Michael’s disappearance, to no avail. Michael hadn’t wanted to be found.
After the fourth ring, Wayne lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
Maybe in the old days, he would have started with a joke. Right now, he wanted to tread carefully so as not to startle Michael away again.
“Hey, Wayne.”
Silence fell between them. Wayne unzipped his jacket, suddenly warm, and jammed his free hand in his pocket.
“What’s up, man?” Wayne asked finally.
Michael cleared his throat. “Thanks again for meeting me at the house last night. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you.”
Wayne blinked back tears. He didn’t want to say what he really wanted to say. I’m so glad you’re back. Where have you been? You nearly killed us when you left.
“Anyway, I wondered if you wanted to head out on the sailboat,” Michael said. “I haven’t been out on the water like that in three years. It would be nice to catch up.”
Wayne could hardly believe it. He hadn’t expected Michael to reach out like this so soon.
“That sounds great. I can meet you down by the docks in ten minutes,” Wayne said.
“I’m on a hike by Arch Rock. I’ll head that way.”
Wayne walked toward the docks, his pulse quick. He paused next to The Grind to peer in and make sure it was up to snuff. Only two people sat inside, one with a laptop and another with a book. A barista swiped at the counter with a washcloth. Back when he and Tara had decided to open The Grind, she had told him it couldn’t be a forever thing. “This is what we’ll do to make money for a while, and then we’ll travel the world together,” she’d said, her bright eyes electric with excitement.
When Wayne reached his sailboat, the Tara, he found Michael already stationed beside it, his hands stuffed in his windbreaker pockets. Out in the gray light of the early afternoon, Wayne was allowed a better picture of the guy than he’d had last night. He was gaunt, hard-edged, and his eyes remained shadowed and almost afraid. Years before, they’d been mischievous and alive.
“Hey there,” Wayne said. He forced his voice to be chipper.
Michael stuck out a hand, which Wayne shook. All he wanted in the world was to hug this kid. He probably hadn’t hugged him since Tara’s funeral. What was it Michael had said at the wake? “She didn’t deserve this. Why didn’t we go with her? Why weren’t we there? We were always there. It should have been us.”
It should have been us.
Obviously, that had stuck with Wayne over the years as he’d grappled with guilt and rage and the all-encompassing sadness.
“How was the hike?” Wayne asked as he swung a leg out onto the boat.
“Good. Nothing like those autumn leaves,” Michael said. “And now that Mom wants to feed me every five minutes, I guess I’ll have to go on a whole lot more hikes to keep myself fit.”
“I guess you’re just going to have to let her dote on you for a while,” Wayne said with a friendly laugh. “At least, as long as you feel like sticking around.”
Michael didn’t make eye contact. He followed Wayne’s lead and got the sailboat ready, performing the same tasks Wayne had taught him when Michael had been twelve or thirteen. Back then, Michael had had his first few real spats with his father and mother and had retreated to Tara and Wayne with complete adoration.
In no time flat, Wayne and Michael had the boat out on the water. The crisp wind whipped across Wayne’s cheeks, knife-like and chilly. Waves surged across the sides of the boat and licked at the bottom of the word Tara. Wayne finally got up the courage to glance at Michael, who had his chin lifted and his eyes closed, totally enjoying the feel of the air, the water, and the smells of the island itself that wafted around them.
“What does it feel like?” Wayne finally asked.
Michael opened his eyes only slightly. “What exactly?”
“To see Mack after so many years away,” Wayne said. “I’ve never spent more than a few weeks off the island at any one time. Even when I went to school as a kid off the island, we still came over to the island all the time. I know in my heart and mind that the place is beautiful, but I no longer see it the same way. It’s all I know.”
Michael considered this for a long time. Eventually, he sighed. “It feels like home.”
Wayne’s heart surged with love.
They sailed toward the Mackinac Bridge without speaking. The large bridge was five miles across, a sturdy monster high over the top of them, and a true feat to sail beneath. Michael clucked his tongue as they went under and then gave Wayne a big smile.
“I know you’re burning with questions,” he said.
“Me? No way,” Wayne said playfully.
“Mom won’t stop. Every few minutes, she comes over to me with a sandwich or a bag of chips or something and says, ‘You know, you can tell me anything.’ As if it would be that easy.”
“She just missed you so much, is all,” Wayne said. We all did.
“I get that.” Michael palmed the back of his neck. “I just can’t explain it all in a few words, you know? As I lived that life, I didn’t question it. But I know rehashing it out to Mom will create a whole lot of chaos.”
Wayne laughed. “That’s your mother, I guess. She was always on fire about something, especially when it came to you.”
“I always thought she and Dad hated me,” Michael said. “I’m old enough now to understand that that wasn’t what it was. I just...” He bit hard on his lower lip, seemingly unsure of how to approach what he said next.
Wayne let the silence creep on. He wasn’t sure he wanted to dip into Tara territory. The whole situation felt like the sun. He didn’t want to stare at it too long.
They continued west, away from the bridge and the island. At one point, Michael grabbed his backpack and opened it to bring out a box of Joann’s Fudge.
“What do you have there?” Wayne said.
Michael wagged his eyebrows. “I knew you couldn’t quit that sweet tooth of yours.”
“And you’ve been on the island less than twenty-four hours and have already suited yourself up with some fudge.”
Michael shrugged as he lifted a little square of peanut butter goodness, dropped it on his tongue, and chewed slowly. “They don’t make fudge like this anywhere else.”
“Anywhere else like...?” Wayne said sneakily.
Michael shook his head and passed the box of fudge. Wayne collected a chocolate-raspberry one, nibbled at the edge, and nearly lost his mind as his taste buds exploded.
“I haven’t had fudge in a while,” he confessed.
“I can tell. You’ve been hard at work in the gym,” Michael said, lifting his own arm and pretending to flex. “Mom says you’ve really lived the past few years.”
Wayne’s smile fell. He sat at the edge of the boat and stared at the half-eaten fudge between his fingers. “Your mom isn’t so happy with me about that.”
Michael coughed. “I don’t know what else she expected you to do. You’re still young. You were given one of the worst situations in the world. And... well...” He shrugged.
“I never wanted to be the island bachelor or anything,” Wayne said. “And I feel like the gossip got out of hand. There’s no way it was ever as bad as people say.”
“Mackinac fuels itself on gossip. You know that,” Michael said. “I generated enough gossip for a few months just today by walking down Main Street and letting a few folks see me. You should have heard them. ‘Was that really Michael Clemmens? Where has he been? I figured he was dead.’”
“Nobody knows how to stay in their own business. It’s true,” Wayne said. He clapped his hand across his thigh. “Which is why I know better than to pester you about all that you’ve gone through. I’m just...” He paused for a second and then forced himself to say it. “I’m just really glad to see you, Mike. It’s been way too long.”
Michael’s eyes grew stormy. He took another bite of fudge and held it in the air so that the gray light reflected off the glittering sugar.
“When Tara died, I was already having a little bit of trouble with myself, with my life,” Michael said. “I wasn’t sure which direction I was headed. Tara’s death was the biggest reminder of the randomness of all of this, at least for me. And I couldn’t go back to your house, the way I always had. I could hardly look you in the eye. The island felt too small. The world felt too cruel. I just had to escape.”
Wayne finished his fudge, clasped his hands together, and studied the water.
“I know that isn’t enough for you,” Michael said. “And I don’t blame you if you don’t trust me or even if you hate me for leaving.”
Wayne’s eyes snapped back toward Michael’s. “That’s ridiculous. I could never hate you. Never in a million years. Tara and I talked about you; we loved you and supported you in all things. I know she wanted the world for you. And maybe... maybe, you went out and found the world.”
Wayne gave Michael a mischievous smile.
After another pause, Michael rubbed his eye. Wayne wondered if he, too, was on the verge of tears.
“You know, I heard you guys talking last night on the porch,” Michael said.
“Sneaky.”
Michael shrugged. “It’s an old house. Megan and I could always hear what was happening downstairs. It’s how we used to sneak out when we were kids. Anyway, Aunt Tracey said something about this woman... a woman who might be related to us?”
Wayne’s stomach curdled with sadness.
“When I brought it up with Mom this morning, she just brushed it aside and said that it’s another person after Grandpa’s money,” Michael said. “But from what I heard last night, you know her a little bit better than the others do. What do you think?”
“She’s one of the better people I’ve met in my life,” Wayne told him, his voice cracking. “She’s actually on her way off the island, and I think we both want to protect ourselves from heartbreak. At this age, heartbreak is something we’re so aware of.”
“But if there’s anything I’ve learned from my years away, it’s that you can create whatever life you want. You can draw it up out of thin air,” Michael said.
Wayne chuckled. “You really think that?”
“I do.”
“You have the optimism of a traveler,” Wayne said. “Someone who has seen every inch of the world.”
“Maybe just every inch of the continent,” Michael said, his grin widening.
The sails surged out with a sudden gust of wind. Wayne rose to tidy them, to turn them back toward the coast. Out there on Lake Michigan, the boat pulsed to-and-fro, hardly aloft, hardly controlled, as the gray autumn skies pressed harder down upon them. If Wayne had learned only weeks ago that he would be out on the water with Michael—the prodigal son—he would have said, not in a million years.
But here they were together.
And maybe, just maybe, second chances were possible after all.