Chapter 15 Tom
TOM
The drive to Point Drive felt longer than usual, though it was only ten minutes from the fire scene to the exclusive neighborhood that housed Sandpiper Shores’ wealthiest residents.
Tom Morrison gripped the steering wheel of his police cruiser, his bandaged head throbbing in rhythm with his mounting frustration.
Point Drive curved along the highest cliffs overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, each sprawling estate positioned to maximize both privacy and the spectacular ocean views.
The Morrison family mansion sat at the very tip of the point, a three-story Victorian monstrosity that had been in his family for four generations.
Complete with its own private beach, stone jetty, and boathouse, it was exactly the kind of ostentatious display his ex-wife Victoria loved.
Which was why she was still living there, despite their divorce being finalized over a year ago.
Tom pulled through the ornate iron gates and up the circular driveway, noting that Victoria’s silver Mercedes was parked beside what he assumed was their son Clive’s pickup truck.
Their daughter Sienna’s red convertible was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t mean much.
She could be anywhere, doing whatever it was that socialites did with their time.
The front door opened before he could knock, revealing Victoria Gilbert Morrison in all her perfectly preserved glory.
At fifty-eight, she looked exactly like what she was: a woman who’d spent decades maintaining her appearance through expensive treatments and designer clothes.
Her blonde hair was styled in the same sophisticated bob she’d worn since college, and her makeup was flawless despite the late hour.
“Tom,” Victoria greeted him with the cool politeness she’d perfected over their twenty-five-year marriage. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
“We need to talk,” Tom said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The foyer looked exactly the same as it had when he’d moved out. It was all marble and crystal and carefully arranged fresh flowers that probably cost more than most people’s weekly grocery budget.
“About what?” Victoria asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.
“Your townhouse in Miami will be finished in four weeks,” Tom said without preamble. “The contractor called this afternoon. Final inspections are scheduled for next Wednesday.”
“How wonderful,” Victoria replied, though her expression suggested the opposite. “But I’ve decided to stay for the entire summer. The social season here is just picking up, and there are so many events planned.”
Tom felt his blood pressure spike. “That’s not what we agreed, Victoria. You said you’d be out as soon as you knew your townhouse was ready.”
“Plans change, darling,” Victoria said with the dismissive tone that had driven him crazy for years. “Surely you can manage a few more weeks at that quaint little inn.”
“That quaint little inn is costing me a fortune,” Tom said through gritted teeth. “Money I don’t have because I’m building you a brand new townhouse and furnishing it according to your specifications.”
Victoria’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched with practiced disdain. “You could always stay at the Sandpiper Grand Hotel. Much more suitable for someone in your position.”
“I can’t afford the Grand, and you know it,” Tom shot back. “Every penny I have is going toward your new place.”
“Yes, well,” Victoria smiled with malicious sweetness, “I suppose staying at your high school sweetheart’s family inn is more economical. I’m sure Margo will knock some money off your tab if you ask her. After all, you and her mother do have history.”
The barb hit exactly where Victoria had intended, but Tom refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “Where are Clive and Sienna?”
“Clive is in the study,” Victoria said, her tone shifting to the long-suffering martyr voice she used when discussing their children. “Sienna is out with friends, as usual.”
Tom found Clive in what had once been his own home office, feet up on the antique desk that had belonged to Tom’s grandfather, playing some kind of game on his phone.
At thirty-six, Clive still looked like the college football player he’d been.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome in the conventional way that had always come easily to the Morrison family.
“Hello, father,” Clive said without looking up from his screen. “What brings you here?”
“Hello, Clive,” Tom replied, settling into one of the leather chairs that faced the desk.
Clive looked up at Tom, and his brows rose. “What happened to your head?”
“A shelf collapsed in Rad’s office at the station while I was in it. I had to get stitches.” Tom studied his son’s face, looking for some sign of concern or interest, but found only casual curiosity.
“Why were you in Rad’s office?” Clive asked.
“Mine was being cleaned. The whole building needs updating.” Tom paused, then asked the question that had been bothering him since the fire started. “Why didn’t you respond to the call tonight? All officers were required to report.”
Clive looked at Tom as if he’d gone mad, his expression shifting to mild annoyance. “It’s my day off, Father. Why would I respond to a call on my day off?”
“Because all officers were required to,” Tom said, fighting to keep his voice level. “Emergency situations don’t respect work schedules.”
“I have a right to my time off,” Clive replied with a shrug. “Besides, you had plenty of people there. I saw the response on the news.”
Tom stared at his son, trying to reconcile the capable police officer he’d hoped to raise with the indifferent man sitting across from him. “I have to go,” he said finally, turning to leave before he said something he’d regret.
“Okay. I’ll be back at work in two days when my leave is over,” Clive said, his attention already back on his phone.
The drive back to the Sandpiper Inn passed in a blur of frustration and self-recrimination. Tom couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d failed as a father, that somewhere along the way he’d raised children who lacked the basic sense of duty and compassion that should drive people in public service.
He thought about his colleagues’ relationships with their children and all the obvious pride they felt for them.
Like Rad Dillinger, who was inspired by his father, who beamed with pride for his son.
The way Willa Parker’s kids rushed to make sure she was safe during emergencies, and the easy affection between Lucy and her daughter, Margo.
What had he done wrong? How had he ended up with children who seemed to care only about themselves?
The Sandpiper Inn’s parking lot was nearly empty at this hour, just a few cars belonging to guests and staff.
Tom sat in his cruiser for a moment after turning off the engine, letting the silence settle around him.
His head ached, his back was stiff from the long day, and every muscle in his body felt like he’d been in a physical fight.
All he wanted was a hot shower, some ibuprofen, and about twelve hours of sleep. But first he’d have to drag himself upstairs, check his messages, and probably review incident reports from the fire. The paperwork never ended, especially not when you were dealing with potential arson.
The inn’s night desk clerk, a cheerful college student, looked up with a welcoming smile as Tom entered the lobby.
“Evening, Chief Morrison,” he said. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, late dinner?”
“No, thank you,” Tom replied, grateful for the young man’s genuine kindness. “Just heading up to get some rest.”
As he moved toward the stairs, something made him pause at the entrance to the inn’s comfortable sitting room. Lucy was curled up on one of the antique sofas, still wearing her white coat, fast asleep.
Tom’s heart did that familiar skip it always did when he saw her.
Even exhausted and rumpled from a long day, she was beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with expensive maintenance or designer clothes.
This was the woman who’d captured his heart at seventeen and had never really let it go, no matter how hard he’d tried to convince himself otherwise.
If he’d married Lucy instead of Victoria, his children would have been different.
They would have been like Margo, who was driven, compassionate, and hardworking despite being born into one of Sandpiper Shores’ founding families.
They would have understood what it meant to serve others, to put community needs above personal convenience.
Moving quietly so as not to wake her, Tom took a throw blanket from the back of another chair and gently draped it over Lucy’s sleeping form.
For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would have been like to come home to her every night for the past forty years, to build a life based on love rather than social expectations.
He started to leave, feeling like an intruder on her peaceful rest, but her soft voice stopped him at the doorway.
“Tom?” Lucy’s voice was thick with sleep as she sat up, blinking in the soft lamplight. “What is the time?”
“Just after eleven-thirty,” Tom said, turning back to face her. “Sorry if I woke you.”
“No, I needed to get up anyway,” Lucy said with a tired smile. “I have to be back at the clinic in forty minutes for another shift.”
“You’re going back?” Tom’s eyebrows rose in concern. “Lucy, you’ve been working for hours.”
“Some of the teenage boys who helped with the evacuation got burned,” Lucy explained, stretching and trying to work the kinks out of her neck from sleeping on the sofa. “They were helping other campers find their pets and elderly relatives. Real heroes.”
“We’ll need their names for commendations,” Tom said. “The community should recognize that kind of courage.”
“That would be wonderful,” Lucy agreed, then yawned widely. “Excuse me, goodness.”
“You’re exhausted,” Tom observed. “How long have you been working?”
“Only about sixteen hours,” Lucy said with a rueful laugh. “But I was up most of last night helping Lacey with a difficult foaling. One of the horses at the sanctuary was having complications.”
“Lacey’s back in town?” Tom asked, surprised. Lucy’s twin sister was a wildlife veterinarian who usually spent summers traveling between different conservation projects.
“Lacey arrived two days ago.” Lucy nodded. “She had to come back early because Dr. Harris got transferred to California unexpectedly. We’re losing so many professionals lately.”
“The whole town is struggling with staffing,” Tom agreed. “We need to find ways to attract new people here, especially young professionals.”
“Maybe we should put Mina Dillinger in charge of recruitment,” Lucy suggested with a smile. “She did an amazing job bringing Willa’s family and Rad here.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Tom said thoughtfully. “Your nephew’s the mayor, maybe we could bring it up at the next town council meeting.”
“I’d love to see this place become more vibrant again,” Lucy said, standing and immediately wincing as her back protested. “We have so much to offer, but people don’t know about us.”
“Yes, the town once boomed, and then it seemed like a lot of people left,” Tom said with a deep sigh. “We definitely need something to boost our town again.”
“There’s blood on your bandage,” Lucy said suddenly, her medical instincts overriding everything else as she moved closer to examine his head wound.
Tom felt his pulse quicken at her proximity, the familiar scent of her perfume mixed with antiseptic bringing back memories he’d tried to bury for decades.
“I’m pretty filthy from the fire scene,” Tom said, stepping back slightly. “I still need to shower and change.”
“Why don’t you go get cleaned up,” Lucy suggested, her professional demeanor not quite hiding the concern in her eyes. “I’ll do the same, and I’ll stop by your room on my way back to the clinic to check your stitches.”
“Are you sure?” Tom asked. “I don’t want to impose when you’re already exhausted.”
“It’s no imposition,” Lucy assured him. “Besides, head injuries can be tricky. Better safe than sorry.”
“All right then,” Tom agreed, feeling something ease in his chest for the first time all day. “I believe your room is just a few doors down from mine.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Lucy confirmed. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get presentable.”
As they walked toward the stairs together, Tom found himself remembering what it felt like to have someone genuinely care about his well-being. Not because it was their job or because it served their interests, but simply because they cared about him as a person.
At Lucy’s door, he turned to face her, noting the way the soft hallway lighting caught the silver in her hair and the gentle lines around her eyes that spoke of years spent smiling.
“Lucy,” he said quietly, “I’m looking forward to our dinner tomorrow night.”
“So am I,” Lucy replied, her voice dropping to that intimate tone he remembered from their teenage years. “It’s been far too long since we really talked.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Tom confirmed, reluctantly stepping back as Lucy opened her door.
“I’ll see you soon,” Lucy said with a smile that made his heart race like he was eighteen again.
As Tom walked the few steps to his own room, he felt lighter than he had in months. Tomorrow night, he would have dinner with the woman who’d held his heart for over forty years. Tonight, she would tend to his injury with the same gentle competence she brought to everything in her life.
For the first time in a very long time, Tom Morrison allowed himself to hope that some mistakes could be corrected, and some chances were worth taking, no matter how much time had passed.