Chapter 30
COLT
Ocean had been fighting sleep for the better part of forty minutes.
The kid was giving it his best to hang with the adults, but he was losing the battle.
He’d been listing sideways in his chair for the last ten minutes.
He’d gone quiet, which was a first. The kid had a lot of questions.
River had given up the fight entirely and was curled up in her grandfather’s lap, her mouth slightly open, a smear of dried chocolate on her cheek. The sugar crash was real.
“Alright, you two,” Becca said, pushing up from her chair. She plucked the marshmallow stick from Ocean’s hand before he could drop it into the fire. “Come on, bud. Up you go.”
Ocean didn’t argue, which told me he was more gone than he looked.
He stood without opening his eyes fully and let Becca steer him toward the back door.
Gideon lifted River without waking her, the way only a grandfather could manage, and carried her inside.
The screen door banged softly behind them.
Summer and I sat in the sudden quiet. The fire had burned down and was nothing more than a soft glow. The tide was coming in, making the ocean feel feet away.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs out toward the warmth of the coals.
The night air had cooled considerably and it felt good against my face.
I could have stayed in that chair until sunrise and been perfectly content about it.
I knew I should probably go, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. It was after ten, but not exactly late.
Gideon came back out through the screen door a few minutes later, rubbing his hands together and looking very much like a man who had no intention of going anywhere. He dropped back into his chair and let out a long, satisfied exhale.
“Beautiful night,” he said.
“It really is,” I agreed.
“You grill?” Gideon asked.
I looked over at him. “I do. I’m Texan. It’s a rite of passage.”
His face opened up into a genuine smile. “Gas or charcoal?”
“Charcoal,” I said. “I tried to convert to gas about six years ago. Lasted a couple weeks before I tore the whole thing out and went back.”
He nodded with the deep satisfaction of a man hearing exactly what he needed to hear. “Gas is for people who are in a hurry and don’t respect the process. You can’t get a good, smoky char with gas.”
“My father would agree with you completely.”
“Smart man.” He crossed his ankle over his knee. “What do you cook?”
“Steaks, mostly. We’re in Texas, so it’s basically a requirement. Ribs when I’ve got the time. My dad just got a Blackstone. Ever use one?”
“No, but I’ve heard a lot of good things about them.”
“You can’t rush a good piece of meat,” I said.
I watched Becca come back out through the screen door and caught the look she shot Summer from across the fire.
“Dad,” Becca said pleasantly, settling into her chair and crossing her arms. “It’s getting late.”
Gideon looked up at the sky. “It’s not that late.”
“It’s after ten.”
“Ten is not late.”
Becca looked at Summer again. Summer shook her head almost imperceptibly. I bit the inside of my cheek and kept my eyes on the fire.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Becca announced, in the tone of someone making a very obvious exit. “It’s been a long day and I am exhausted. Completely exhausted.” She paused, as if waiting for someone to take the hint. “So. I’m going to bed.”
“Good night, Becca,” Summer said.
Becca looked at her father again. He was watching an ember pop and drift up from the fire pit. He had the expression of a man who was either truly unaware of what his daughter was attempting or was enjoying the performance enormously.
I suspected it was the latter.
“You know what sounds good right now?” Gideon said. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “A cold beer. The kids are in bed.” He looked at Summer. “I think I saw a couple of bottles in the back of the fridge.”
“I’ll get them,” Summer said and pushed up from her chair before I could offer.
Becca leaned forward as soon as Summer went inside and looked at her father. “Dad.”
He looked at her with complete innocence. “What?”
“It’s getting late.”
“You just said that.”
“I’m saying it again because the first time didn’t seem to land.”
He tilted his head toward the sky. “Becca, it’s a clear night. The stars are out. I’ve got good company and in a minute I’m going to have a cold beer.” He folded his hands over his stomach. He was a man who had nowhere to be now and no demands he get up early in the morning.
Becca looked at me with an apology in her eyes.
“There’s no rush,” she said in a tight voice. “I just thought you might be tired.”
“I’m not tired.”
Summer came back out with three bottles and handed one to her father, one to me. She reclaimed her chair. She looked over at Becca with an expression that said very clearly, let it go.
Becca yawned loudly. “Well, I for one am absolutely beat. I think I might fall asleep standing here.” She looked at her father one more time.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Gideon said, without looking up from his beer.
Becca had lost the battle. The sooner she accepted that, the less awkward for all of us. I wasn’t going to run the man off. I wasn’t going to tell him I’d really like to be alone with his daughter. So we were hanging out.
Gideon took a long pull from his bottle and watched the fire. I did the same. Summer was quiet on my other side.
He asked me about Texas. He asked about the land and what it looked like in January when everything was dead and brown.
Whether the blue bonnets really came back as thick as people said.
What it smelled like after a hard rain in the hill country.
I got the feeling Gideon was considering a trip to Texas.
I told him about the ranch and how quiet it truly was first thing in the morning before the heat rolled in and everything went still. I talked about the cattle and the general ranching business. Gideon listened the way people used to listen. Without his phone in his hand. He just took it in.
Summer was quiet between us. I glanced over and saw her legs pulled up under her, her head tipped slightly to one side, her eyes closed. She still had her beer bottle loosely in her fingers. I watched it tilt and reached over and gently took it before it could slip.
She didn’t stir.
I set the bottle down beside my chair and looked back at the fire.
Gideon noticed and said nothing, just took a slow drink from his own bottle.
I didn’t get the impression he was standing guard.
He wasn’t trying to keep me from being alone with his daughter.
Gideon was a smart man. He knew damn well there had been plenty of alone time between us.
I got up quietly, went inside, and retrieved the blanket I’d seen draped over the back of the sofa. I came back out and settled it over Summer’s shoulders, tucking the edge up around her. She made a small sound and turned her face further into the chair back, her breathing going deep and even.
I sat back down.
Gideon was watching me.
We sat in comfortable silence for a while. It was the kind of thing I did with my own dad and brothers back home. We didn’t have to fill the quiet. A cold beer, low fire, and good company could make any night perfect. Didn’t need to mess it up with a bunch of needless conversation.
“I owe you an apology,” I said after a while.
He looked over at me.
“The house,” I said, gesturing loosely in the direction of the Anderson property. I shook my head. “It sits right in your southern sightline. I noticed it the first night I was back. I don’t know how you’ve put up with it.”
Gideon looked toward the dark mass of shrubbery that separated the two properties. He was quiet for a moment.
“It’s a big house,” he said finally. “Been there a long time.” He looked back at the fire. “It’s part of home, at this point.” He lifted one shoulder. “Nothing to apologize for.”
I sipped my beer.
“The town is the thing I worry about,” he said, his tone solemn.
I sat up a little straighter knowing I needed to listen.
“Not the houses. Not the families that come and go. The town itself.” He looked out toward the dark.
“I’ve watched it change in small ways for thirty years.
Every time, people said it wasn’t going to amount to much.
And every time, they were mostly right.” He paused.
“But every so often something comes along that’s got real teeth.
And you have to know which fight is worth fighting and which one’s just noise. ”
“How do you tell the difference?” I asked.
“You look at the paperwork,” he said simply.
I turned to look at him. I knew he was trying to tell me something but he wasn’t saying it outright. My dad did that shit all the time.
“I was on the historical preservation committee,” he said. “Years ago. Before the girls were school age. We spent the better part of two years working on the commercial corridor on Front Street. The heritage buildings.” He looked at me sideways. “You know which ones I mean.”
“The old block,” I said. “The ones that go back to the original town plan.”
He nodded. “We had developers come through twice in the nineties. Both times they wanted to tear down half of Front Street and put up something new. Something modern, they called it.” He made a sound that was not quite a laugh.
“We fought them both times. Second time we won. We got the construction covenants written into the permits. Every commercial property on that original block.” He took a drink.
“The covenant runs with the land. Doesn’t matter who buys it, who sells it, who inherits it.
The covenant stays. Any structural modification, or proposed change to the exterior profile along with any new construction within the designated footprint requires unanimous approval from the historical committee.
And to get approval, it has to conform to the original design specifications.
” He paused. “And we’ve all got opinions, which means unanimous approval is functionally impossible. ”
I went very still.
My mind was already moving. I heard what he didn’t say.
The headquarters Judd had already occupied, and had contractors walking through with clipboards ready to gut the place, was sitting right in the middle of that area.
The building that would need to be substantially modified to accommodate the infrastructure requirements of a cruise terminal operation.
The loading dock access alone would require tearing out the original south-facing facade.
“The Front Street building,” I said.
“Good luck getting around the historical society.” Gideon grinned.
I nodded, already thinking of how I could use that information to my advantage. “I guess that explains why Surfside hasn’t changed much in the last few decades.”
He chuckled. “Get a bunch of old farts with nothing better to do than protect their town and that’ll happen.”
“It’s preserved something special. I guess Texas is that way. Not the big cities. They can have all their skyscrapers and cement parks. The rest of us want our dirt roads and porch swings.”
He laughed. “And we want our sandy beaches and fire pits.”
I got it. I understood. I finished my beer and got to my feet. I should probably get going. I looked down at Summer and debated how to handle the awkward situation. Couldn’t kiss her goodbye. Did I wake her and tell her I was leaving?
“I’ll make sure she gets up to bed,” Gideon said.
And problem solved. He wasn’t going to make this too easy on me. I almost respected him more for it.
“It was nice to meet you, Gideon,” I said. “Thank you for letting me spend time with your family.”
“I have a feeling we’ll be breaking bread again soon,” he said.
That made me grin. “Hope so. Goodnight.”