Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Sullivan finished polishing the coffee table, the first piece of furniture he had crafted in years. Bitterness swelled within him, thinking how much he had enjoyed the summers he spent with Pawpaw and Memaw in Baker’s Cove.
And how his mother had put an end to all of it.
Jacqueline Shepherd had insisted that her son stop going to Maine to see his paternal grandparents, putting him in all kinds of activities that she believed would benefit him socially.
He’d appealed to his father, but Oliver Shepherd stood united with his wife on the issue.
He explained that during Sullivan’s teen years, he needed to prepare for college and beyond.
It was important to participate in the right activities.
Be seen with the right people. Do the right things.
Mother constantly reminded him that since Thurston wasn’t around to do these things, Sullivan was doing everything for the both of them.
Since he was a minor, he had no say in the matter.
That summer, instead of making furniture with Pawpaw and canning fruits with Memaw, he’d done a PSAT prep course.
He began taking lessons in Mandarin and sailing.
His parents had been gone during all of June and July, but they had returned in August, taking him to Martha’s Vineyard.
He was forced to go to the country club and parties.
Sullivan did it all with a smile on his face, plotting ways to return to his grandparents the next summer.
He even took up running, saying he wanted to train for a marathon, just so he could be out of the house and not around anyone.
It hadn’t mattered. By the next summer, both his grandparents were dead.
He rubbed his hand along the smooth wood, thinking the hours he had put into making the coffee table had been some of the best he had spent in years.
It felt right to hold wood in his hands again.
To make something from nothing. Crafting furniture filled a place in his soul which had been starving for a long time.
He cleaned up the shop, setting the coffee table next to the door. Pulling out his phone, he snapped a few pictures of the table from different angles. Then he created an album on his phone.
Sullivan’s Furniture.
He might never create another piece again, but at least he had this coffee table to be proud of.
Taking one last glance around the shop, he turned off the lights and locked the door. He decided to stop by the Driftwood Diner and return Neville’s key since his time in the Bay was drawing to an end. The last surge of work would pick up in the next month, and then he’d leave the Gulf Coast.
For a while, he had toyed with the idea of staying in Driftwood Bay, liking the friendliness of the small, coastal town.
He’d become close to a local artist, Keaton Maxwell, and the high school’s basketball coach, Carson Andrews.
He had even volunteered to draw up the plans for a house for Carson, which he and Mila would move into soon once it was completed in a couple of weeks.
He’d even thrown out a name—Sullivan Design Studio.
He had thought he might be able to build furniture for a living, while putting his architecture degree to use on the side and design a home every now and then.
Then he’d had second thoughts. It seemed foolish to waste his degree, staying in the Bay.
He also worried that he might come to resent giving up his position with a renown, worldwide company.
Sullivan had designed resorts in the US, as well as ones in Thailand, South Africa, and Japan.
Wagner Enterprises had given him opportunities that allowed him to use his imagination.
He flexed his creative muscles and challenged himself with each new, multimillion dollar project.
To go from a career which paid him an ungodly amount of money and kept him fulfilled and busy to a quiet life in a small town seemed ridiculous.
Maybe one day, far in the future, he could retire to a spot such as Driftwood Bay.
Tinker around and carve the occasional piece of furniture.
Sullivan Design Studio was just a pipe dream.
He’d leave here and get caught back up in his professional life.
Sadness filled him, knowing he didn’t have much of a personal one waiting for him in New York.
He shook it off, though. Everyone had to make trade-offs in life.
Most people would envy him, with his high-profile job and luxury apartment.
He needed to appreciate what he had—and not hanker for something that probably wouldn’t satisfy him.
He drove the few blocks to the diner and entered.
Zane’s grandparents, Neville and Nellie, had run the place for decades.
It was interesting how his best friend’s summers had paralleled his own, with Zane coming to Driftwood Bay for several weeks once school let out.
Zane had fond memories of this small town, and he had been the one to push for one of Wagner Enterprise’s upscale resorts to be built just off the coast of Driftwood Bay.
It had also been Zane who approved Sullivan’s request to remain here during construction of Tidewater.
Usually, Sullivan designed a resort over several months, visiting the site so he could take into consideration where the property would be built and incorporating the area into his design.
Once the design had the green light, he would again travel to and be onsite in the early stages when they broke ground.
Once things were underway, he returned to his apartment in Manhattan, one he shared with Zane.
The Wagner corporate office was located in the city, and he could walk to work.
Zane was rarely home, usually halfway around the globe, scouting locations for future resorts or office buildings.
When they were in town together, Sullivan treasured those times, especially since Zane had been briefly married.
The marriage was a disaster from the beginning, and his friend had moved back in with Sullivan as soon as it ended.
He parked and entered the diner. Nellie greeted him with a hug.
“How’s my coffee table coming?” she asked.
“I finished it.” He fished out his cell and brought up the pictures. “What do you think?”
She studied the photo. “Honey, you did a wonderful job. I can’t wait to show it off to my friends! Now, you’re gonna need to make me two end tables to match. I can put ’em on each side of the sofa.”
Sullivan wanted to say he probably wouldn’t be in town long enough to complete a pair, but he didn’t want to have that conversation right now.
“I’ll check my schedule and see,” he told her.
“You want some coffee? A bite to eat?”
“Maybe a coffee to go. I need to get over to Tidewater. Just wanted to let you know I was done. I think I’ll go say hi to Neville.”
“Coffee coming up,” Nellie said cheerfully.
He went to the kitchen, where Neville was frying bacon in one pan and eggs in another.
“You done?” the old man asked.
Holding up his phone, he allowed Neville to study the photo.
“Damn fine job. Better than I could’ve done. Your granddaddy taught you well.”
“He sure did.” Fishing out the key to the shop, he handed it over. “I want to thank you for letting me tinker in the shop. It felt good, working with wood again.”
“You can keep it for now,” Neville said, flipping the eggs over as he refused the key. Then he studied Sullivan. “Unless you’re leaving soon.”
“Probably. The resort is coming along. They’re about to start posting positions.”
“Well, you’re welcome to use the shop whenever you like, for as long as you like. I guess Zane’ll be coming into town soon if things are wrapping up.”
“Not for a bit. But you’re right, he’ll arrive before the resort opens. He’ll want to see into every nook and cranny. Learn everyone employee’s name. Test out items on the menu. Sleep in a few rooms and see how the maids clean them. I may be gone by the time he arrives, though.”
Neville scooped up the eggs and plated them, along with the bacon. He transferred a generous pile of hash browns to the plate and then set it in the window, tapping the bell which sat nearby. A server retrieved it.
“We’ve enjoyed having you in the Bay, Sullivan,” the old man said, his eyes misting over. “You’re our honorary grandson now.”
Sullivan grinned. “I should be. I’ve eaten enough meals here. I appreciate how you and Nellie have looked out for me while I’ve been here. Even rented me the room above the diner.”
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. And keep the shop key.”
“Order up!” a server called out.
“You’re busy. Talk later,” he said, leaving the kitchen.
Nellie handed him his coffee. “One sugar and plenty of cream.”
“Just as I like it. Thanks, Nellie.”
He left the diner, returning to his car and driving to the water.
Tidewater sat on an island almost two miles off the coast and was only reachable by the local ferry.
Sullivan had factored in that some people might want to fly in by helicopter, though, and had made certain a helipad was a part of his final plans for the resort.
The island didn’t have room for a runway, so guests would either fly to Corpus and have a member of the resort transport them to Driftwood Bay and then arrive by ferry, or they could land in Corpus and take a chartered helicopter from there.
He had recommended having two company helicopters, seating six each, remain at the Corpus airport. It was something Zane would arrange.