Chapter 7
Dave had been looking forward to seeing his son all week.
He’d told Hank flat out he wasn’t taking calls after nine o’clock on Sunday, no matter what the concrete supplier said about Monday’s pour, or any other emergencies that were bound to happen.
The day before, he’d picked out the steaks at the butcher’s counter instead of grabbing whatever was closest. In a chiller beside him sat two of the best rib-eyes he’d ever seen. They were Mark’s favorite, and might make up for not seeing each other in a while.
Mark’s home was a small rental with a view of the marina. It was always tidy, and Dave used to joke that it was because Mark wasn’t home enough to leave a mess.
The grill was already sitting on the deck when Dave pulled in.
Mark walked toward him. “You’re early.”
“I wanted to beat the traffic on the bridge.”
“There’s no traffic on a Sunday, Dad.”
“Okay,” Dave said with mock seriousness. “You caught me out. I wanted to spend more time with you.”
Mark grinned as if he’d been waiting to hear Dave say he’d missed him.
After a quick hug, they fell into the easy rhythm of two people who loved each other and didn’t need much ceremony about it.
Mark asked about the resort—how the framing was coming, whether Noah was still riding him about the timeline. And Dave gave him the whole story, not the short one.
Dave asked about Mark’s job, whether the new manager was as difficult as the last one. Mark told a story about a spreadsheet mix-up that had Dave laughing hard enough to set his beer down.
Somewhere between the steaks going on and catching up with Mark’s news, Dave started talking about the arts center.
He hadn’t planned to. He’d meant to keep it to a few sentences.
But he told Mark about the old tin ceiling Beverly Cantrell’s group was hoping had survived, and the way the light would fall once the skylights went in, and how the new manager had a way of seeing a room before it existed that reminded him of Mark’s mom.
“Tell me more about the new manager,” Mark said as he flipped the steaks.
Dave took a moment before answering. It surprised him that there was so much to say about someone he’d only known for a short while.
“Her name is Beth Kowalski. She’s lived in Sapphire Bay for years and knows most of the people in town.
She’s responsible for putting together a program of activities at the arts center and setting up class registrations.
” A smile worked its way across his face.
“And making sure the remodel keeps to its tight schedule and budget.”
Mark glanced across at him. “She must be organized.”
Dave nodded. “She has to be. There’s a lot riding on making the center a success. Most of the funding for the remodel has come from grants. They have strict criteria and need to see people coming through the door as soon as possible.”
Mark didn’t ask any more questions about Beth, which suited Dave more than he wanted to admit. He admired her in a way that caught him off guard. Beth asked practical questions that made the whole project better. And she had a quiet confidence that seemed to grow a little stronger every day.
She also had an uncanny ability to tell him he was wrong without making him want to argue.
He liked that about her.
Mark turned off the grill. “Do you want to eat on the deck or go inside?”
Dave tilted his face toward the sun. There wasn’t much warmth in it, but the view of the water made him want to stay a little longer. “I’m happy on the deck. I’ll give you a hand to bring out the plates.”
While Mark grabbed the salads, Dave collected the plates, knives and forks, and ketchup. On his way through the living room, he picked up the fresh loaf of bread he’d bought from the bakery in Sapphire Bay.
When he saw the food on Mark’s wooden table, Dave smiled. It wasn’t bad for two men who barely had time to sleep, let alone put together a lunch fit for kings.
Neither of them said much as they ate. Their silence was easy, even after months apart.
It was Mark who spoke first. “I worry about you living in Sapphire Bay by yourself,” he said, not looking up from his plate. “You’re living in a big, old house that always needs something fixed.”
Dave shrugged. “Your mom and I loved that house. It keeps me busy.”
“That’s not the point.” Mark set his fork down. “You’re still working two jobs so you don’t have to sit still. I’ve watched you do it for years.”
Dave reached for his glass instead of answering. It was an old habit that gave him a few seconds to figure out what he wanted to say.
“I’m fine, Mark. I like to be busy.”
“There’s more to life than work, Dad. You’re in your mid-sixties. You should be thinking about retiring, not planning the next job.”
Dave’s eyebrows rose. “My age doesn’t matter. I’m not retiring until I’m ready.”
Mark sighed. “I just want you to be happy, not work yourself into an early grave.”
“I am happy.” And for the first time in years, it was the truth.
“I’m enjoying working on the resort at Finley Point.
My crew are creating something that will outlast all of us and the next couple of generations.
And the arts center is a labor of love. The building has great bones and just needs some work to make it shine. ”
Mark studied Dave’s face. “You sound like you used to. When Mom was still here, you’d come home and tell us how a building would change people’s lives once it was remodeled. I haven’t heard you do that in years. Most of our conversations have been one-liners that don’t explain much of anything.”
Dave didn’t have a fast answer for that, so he didn’t reach for one.
“Your mom would have enjoyed the projects I’m working on,” Dave said finally. “She’d have had opinions about the paint colors inside of two minutes.”
Mark laughed, short and real. “Mom had opinions about everything inside of a few minutes.”
Dave smiled. “She was right about most of them, too.”
Mark nodded and looked across the water. For a second, Dave saw the little boy he’d taught to fish before he’d moved away to make his way in the world.
“I still miss Mom,” Mark said softly. “Some days it sneaks up on me at the grocery store, of all places. She used to buy that terrible orange juice that nobody would drink.”
An image of Carol unpacking the groceries made Dave’s throat thicken.
When Mark was a boy, money was tight. Carol couldn’t justify spending another five dollars on a carton of juice, so she bought a cheaper generic brand.
After a while, even when they could afford something different, she’d bought the same juice.
“Your mom knew you didn’t like it. She wanted you to keep drinking water.”
Mark’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t she say anything?”
“There wasn’t much you didn’t agree on,” Dave told his son. “She wanted to see how long you’d take to tell her it was terrible.”
“I never did. At least she saved our teeth from cavities.”
They laughed together, the kind of laugh that had grief folded somewhere deep inside it. They shared more stories about Carol. Some touching, some showing just how stubborn she could be. But all of them wrapped in the happy memories of two people who’d loved her.
Dave hadn’t talked about Carol like this in a long time. It felt good to reconnect with his son, to remember the times that had shaped both their lives, and led them on the path of who they’d become.
By the time Dave loaded the empty cooler back into his truck, the marina was lit with white lights and the soft glow of the setting sun.
Mark stood in the driveway. “We can’t let it be months again before we see each other, Dad. I’m away next week, but do you want a visitor the following Sunday?”
“That sounds great. Hank’s wife gave me her secret barbecue sauce recipe. I’ll cook some spareribs you’ll never forget.”
Mark hugged Dave close. “Sounds like an awesome plan, Dad. Take care. If you need me for anything, just call.”
Dave nodded. “You, too. I’m only a phone call away.”
The drive back along the lake was dark and familiar, headlights catching the fence posts one at a time. When Dave turned up his own street, the veranda light was already on, same as every night, tripped by its timer to keep the house from looking empty while he was gone.
Most nights he drove up to it and didn’t think about it at all. It had been burning there for so long that it had stopped meaning anything.
Tonight he sat in the truck after he’d cut the engine. The house wasn’t any different than it had been the night before, but somehow it made him feel more alone than he wanted to admit.
With a sigh, he went inside and left the veranda light on a little longer than usual before he went up to bed.
As if there were a reason to.