An Unlikely Father

“It’s close by,” she said.

He walked beside her down a narrow alley that ended after a couple of blocks at the Gulf. Her vehicle was parked near the corner, close to Island Avenue where the crowds still lingered. A few couples strolled past them heading for the water. When they reached her truck, Helen stopped, leaned against the hood.

“You feel like going a little farther?” Ethan asked, patting his abdomen. “I wouldn’t mind walking off a little of this pizza.”

She stuck her hands in her pockets, hunched her shoulders.

“It’s too cold, isn’t it?” he said, realizing the temperature had dropped since the sun set.

“It’s fine,” she said, pushing away from the truck. “Let’s go.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a minute until he said, “So what do you think is the connection between our fathers?”

“I wish I knew. I can tell you this much, Finn doesn’t seem to like your dad.”

The bluntness of her answer caught Ethan off guard. Nearly everyone in his circle of acquaintances liked Archie—or at least respected him. “That’s odd,” he said. “Do you know why?”

“Haven’t a clue. But Finn will tell me when he’s ready.”

“When might that be?”

“With Finn, you never know. He keeps stuff inside.”

Ethan frowned. Like father, like daughter. He was just thinking that Helen was about as unreadable as a blank page. Deciding he wouldn’t get any more info from her tonight, he changed the subject. “Tell me about your business. Do you run the charter boat by yourself?”

“Basically. But the law requires that every public charter company has at least one mate on board. It’s a good idea. In a typical trip there’s too much work for one person to handle.”

They reached the shore and Ethan looked out at shimmering waves that rolled from a limitless horizon to wash up on the sand. “How far out do you go?” he asked.

“It depends where the fish are. As far as we need to. At least a mile, sometimes five or six.”

“What do you do with the fish you catch?”

“We operate a catch and release boat. None of the fish we bring in can be mounted as trophies. We let the fishermen haul them on board, we take their picture and then release them. If the fish is a good-eating variety, we’ll sometimes bring it home, clean it and sell it to one of the restaurants in town.”

Ethan wouldn’t know one fish from another, but he did enjoy snapper and grouper when it was offered on a menu. “That sounds like a sporting way of doing things,” he said. “So how do all the taxidermists stay in business?”

“We don’t have one in Heron Point, probably because we’re the only charter company in town and wouldn’t send them any customers. We just don’t think it’s the right thing to do.”

She shivered, hugged her elbows close to her sides and pushed her hands deeper into her pockets. A cool wind blew off the Gulf. The temperature away from the protection of the buildings was at least ten degrees colder than on the avenue. Ethan wished he had a jacket to offer her. She couldn’t know that to a New Yorker, this was like a balmy summer night. He wrapped his hands around her arms, rubbed his palms over her skin. “You’re freezing. We’ll go back.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” she said through chattering teeth.

He was forced to release her as they turned away from the water. They’d nearly cleared the sand when they had to skirt around another couple sharing a passionate kiss. The lovers were oblivious to anyone else on the beach.

Pretending great seriousness, Helen said, “That’s weekenders for you. No shame.”

Ethan laughed, leaned close to her and caught a whiff of something nice, lemony and salty at the same time. Fresh, not bottled. He liked it and thought about putting his arm around her, using the chill wind as an excuse. But instead he said, “I don’t know. Maybe the weekenders have the right idea.”

All at once she seemed to draw away from him, stiffen, becoming a defensive version of the easygoing woman she’d been just a moment ago. Surely she hadn’t taken offense at what he’d said. He didn’t mean anything by it. Not really. She walked more briskly. When they reached her truck she stepped away from him, pulled her keys out of her pocket and said, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll probably see you Sunday, then.”

“I’ll try to make it. I don’t always know how long the charter will take.”

“Okay. I’ll be around if you decide to come over.”

She got in the truck, started the engine and pulled out of the parking space. With a skillful snap of the wheel, she turned the lumbering vehicle around and headed out of town.

Ethan watched until her taillights faded in the distance. Then he made his way back to the hotel. Even after spending a couple of hours with Helen, he realized he didn’t know a whole lot more about her than he had when he’d walked into Claire’s shop earlier. But his interest in her had grown considerably.

HELEN DIDN’T STOP shivering until she turned onto Gulfview Road, and she knew her reaction had nothing to do with the temperature. She was still scolding herself when she pulled into the driveway at her cottage. “Watch yourself, Sweeney,” she said. “The idea is to cement a working relationship with this guy, not to fall for him. You’ve got enough problems without letting your imagination run wild over Ethan Anderson. At least with Donny, you thought there was a chance he might stick around. You know this one won’t.”

She stepped onto the shellrock drive and slammed the truck door. “Sure, he seems like a nice guy,” she said. “But how many times have you fallen for an act like that?” She stomped to the back porch door and yanked it open. Andy peered up at her from the hardwood floor in the kitchen. “Hello, mutt,” she said.

She knelt down beside him and rubbed the thick fur at his neck. “We Sweeneys are a stupid lot, aren’t we, big guy? I keep butting my head against a wall thinking some guy is going to really care about me and what I want, and, with a half-dozen doggie beds around this place, you keep sleeping on the floor. Gluttons for punishment, that’s what we are. Too stupid to learn and too old to start over.”

CHAPTER FIVE

ETHAN KICKED OFF HIS SNEAKERS, sat on the edge of the bed and took his cell phone out of his pocket. He pressed the single number that connected him to his father’s private line in his Manhattan residence.

Archie Anderson answered on the second ring. “Hey, son, I’m glad you called back. I just got some disturbing news from Jack. He says you’re moving into Dolphin Run on Sunday.”

Mentally cursing Jack and the pipeline he always kept open to Archie, Ethan managed to answer in a calm voice, “That’s right. I told you earlier when we talked. I’m having the place cleaned tomorrow and checked for structural problems. If everything looks okay, I’m moving in. Taking charge of the renovations is why I’m here, after all, so it only makes sense for me to live there.”

“Well, sure, but I would have hoped for a little more notice.”

Ethan shook his head, tamped down an angry reaction. “Why? So you can get a team of security men over there first?”

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