Chapter 3
3
Slowly ... cautiously ... Noah opened one eye, then the other, as the smell of bacon teased him awake.
Everything in his parents’ neat-as-a-pin guest room came into clear focus, and the intense burning that had scorched his eyes, mouth, throat, and skin last night was gone.
Thank you, God!
The long shower he’d taken after giving Dad a quick recap of his traumatic arrival had alleviated much of his distress, but given the extent of his discomfort, it wouldn’t have been at all surprising if there’d been lingering effects after he woke from the exhausted slumber he’d fallen into the second his head hit the pillow.
What a relief to know his agony was nothing more than a bad memory.
Swinging his legs to the floor, he inhaled the delicious aroma wafting into the room. Mom had always been the cook in the family, but it seemed Dad had upped his game since she’d passed away.
Excellent.
Maybe he didn’t have to worry as much about whether his father was eating decent meals ... although bacon wasn’t the healthiest menu choice for a man who’d had enough blockage in his LAD artery to require a stent.
Another topic for discussion during his visit—post breakfast. The loud rumble from his stomach put food at the top of his priority list.
After throwing on his clothes and giving his bristly jaw and cheeks a fast shave, he made a beeline for the kitchen.
Dad turned from the stove when he appeared, lips bowing as he gave him a once-over. “Morning. You don’t look any the worse for wear. How are you feeling?”
“Back to normal, thank goodness.”
“Glad to hear it. You were a mess last night.”
“Thanks for the ego boost.”
“Just being honest. I didn’t hear any noise in your room as I passed, but I figured the smell of bacon would rouse you. You were always partial to it. Help yourself to a mug of java while I dish up the food.” He motioned toward a coffee maker on the counter. “Unless you’ve given up caffeine.”
“Never.” Noah ambled over to the pot. “With the long days I put in at work, it’s a vital tool of the trade.”
“Still clocking those twelve-hour shifts?”
“Not always, but often.”
His father shook his head while he divvied up the scrambled eggs. “Those kinds of hours would have driven me crazy. I may not have pulled in the big bucks you earn, but I was happy with a smaller paycheck, a nine-to-five job, and more time with the people I loved.” He added bacon to the plates, hefting the one with the lion’s share of the high-fat treat before setting it on the table. “This is yours. And speaking of people to love ... anything new on that horizon in your world?”
An image of Candace appeared in his mind, but he expunged it at once. That memory was almost as bad as the one from last night.
“Nothing to report.” He sat at the table.
“You ever going to get around to finding yourself a wife?”
Noah curbed an eye roll. Mom had been on his case about his single status since the day he turned thirty, and it appeared Dad had picked up the baton in her absence.
“I’ll think about it someday.” Maybe. After the memory of Candace faded. “This looks delicious.”
His father took the hint and dropped the subject. “Not as delicious as your mom used to make. She could work magic with herbs and spices and eggs. But this is a big step up from my usual breakfast of oatmeal and fruit.”
So Dad launched most days with a healthy meal.
Also excellent.
“It’s a step up from my typical breakfast too.” The energy bar or bagel he tended to gulp down in the morning filled the empty place in his stomach, if not at his table.
Noah frowned.
Where on earth had that errant thought come from? His single life suited him fine, thank you very much. Relationships came with too many complications. Too many expectations. Too many risks. As his experience with Candace last winter had proven.
He suppressed a shudder as his father picked up the conversation. “Remember the days we’d come home from church on Sunday and your mom would whip up a batch of those Belgian waffles you and I loved? Not to mention the special breakfasts she always made on holidays.” His lips curved up. “I can still taste her poppy seed bread. You ever have any sweet treat that came close to that?”
“No. Never.”
“I sure do miss that. And her.”
At the sudden hint of melancholy in his father’s voice, Noah reached over and touched his arm. “I do too, Dad.” But not with the acute sense of loss someone would feel who’d lived with a spouse day in and day out for decades and whose world revolved around that person.
Another downside of getting involved with someone. Life had enough disappointments without setting yourself up for the shattering grief his dad had to be experiencing. Losing a mom was gut-wrenching, but losing a wife you loved had to be devastating.
“I know. She was a special woman.” His dad patted his hand and went back to eating. “Speaking of women, I imagine you gave Bren quite a scare last night.”
“In light of her response to my appearance, I think that’s a safe conclusion.” He took a sip of coffee. “What’s her story, anyway? She mentioned a fire at her place, but my brain was too mucked up to process much beyond that.”
He continued to eat while his dad filled him in.
“So I told her she could stay until the house she rents is repaired and she’s able to move back in.” His father finished off his eggs as he ended his story.
“Is she paying you?”
“A modest amount.”
“What’s modest?” At the sum his father quoted for the monthly rate, Noah arched his eyebrows. “The income from the cottage was higher than that for less than a week when you were renting it to tourists.”
“True. But I wouldn’t be making anything on it at all if I hadn’t offered it to Bren.”
Hard to argue with that.
“Are you certain her situation is legit?”
His father’s forehead puckered. “What do you mean?”
Noah broke his last piece of bacon in half as a vision of short, spiky, rainbow-hued hair materialized in his mind—one of only two details that had registered about the woman’s appearance through his impaired vision.
He quashed the other image, of legs that went on forever beneath a short, silky, very bright sleep shirt, focusing instead on her psychedelic hair as he popped a piece of the bacon into his mouth.
“I mean, did you verify her story?” What if she was on the hunt for a sweet deal on housing, taking advantage of a man who’d always been a soft touch for people facing setbacks or difficulties?
“Didn’t have to.” Dad kept eating.
Noah set his fork down. “It wouldn’t have hurt to do some due diligence. Check to make sure there really was a fire. And what do you know about her? Does she have a job? Did you ask for references? Did you run her credit?”
His father stared at him. “Good grief, Noah. This is Hope Harbor, not some big-city-crime hot spot.”
“Exploitation can happen anywhere. As a number of my charitable-minded clients back home could attest, for every legitimate need there are a dozen people willing to fabricate a hard-luck tale if they can wrangle a payoff from it. There are bad apples everywhere.”
“Not in Hope Harbor.”
He let that pass. If his father wanted to view the world through rose-colored glasses, that was his prerogative—as long as he wasn’t being bilked.
“So are you saying you don’t know the answers to my questions?”
His father pushed his empty plate aside and folded his hands on the table, his expression placating. “The fire happened. Everyone in town was talking about it yesterday. Bren has been a part-time barista at The Perfect Blend for several years and is well-liked. I’ve known her since her first day on the job. And I didn’t do a credit check because when I offered to let her use the cottage for free, she insisted on paying. We compromised on the figure I gave you. Satisfied?”
Noah chomped into the other half piece of bacon, buying himself a moment to craft a diplomatic response. “It never hurts to be careful. Besides, she looks kind of ... different, from what I could tell with my compromised vision.”
“You must mean her hair.” Grinning, his father wrapped his fingers around his mug. “I have to admit that was a mite off-putting initially, but it grew on me. It’s bright and cheerful and goes with her personality.”
“I’ll concede it’s colorful, but if she had an interest in a white-collar career she’d have a struggle surviving in corporate America with that look.” Especially in a traditional firm like his, where business casual meant open-necked Oxford shirts and creased trousers, and facial hair was discouraged.
“More’s the pity. Fewer rules and a little less conformity in the world wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
Noah hiked up an eyebrow. “This from the man who always said rules were invented for a reason?”
His dad shrugged. “I still believe that, but I guess I’m more tolerant than I used to be toward people who march to the beat of a different drummer. So ...” He leaned back. “To what do I owe this unexpected and unannounced visit?”
The same question he’d asked last night.
Noah took a sip of his coffee.
In light of his physical distress, Dad had let him dodge the query in the wee hours. But it wasn’t going to be easy to put him off for long, even if tackling hard subjects on the heels of last night’s trauma had about as much appeal as rainbow-hued hair.
“I was overdue for R&R, and I wanted to see you for myself after the heart incident.” Perhaps a deflection tactic would redirect the conversation away from the motive for his trip. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about it until it was over.”
His father waved that aside. “It was a simple problem to fix, and a simple procedure took care of it. Why would I worry you over that?”
“Because I’m your son?”
“You have too much on your plate already.”
“I always have time for you, Dad.”
“Nice to know. And your presence here proves that. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming, though? You could have saved Bren a fright and yourself a lot of agony.”
Evidently his father wasn’t going to be sidetracked.
After taking a fortifying gulp of coffee, he plunged in. “I have some concerns.”
“About me?”
“Yes. Hope Harbor is a long way from St. Louis—and from me and all of your friends there if you ever need any help.”
“This is my home now, Son, and I have wonderful friends here, both in town and at church. They’d be a strong support system, if I ever needed it.”
“It’s not like having family close by, though. Or old friends.”
“No. To get that, I’d have to go back to St. Louis. Is that what you’re hoping to convince me to do?”
“I thought it was worth discussing.”
“Nope. I don’t plan to leave Hope Harbor until the good Lord calls me to my eternal home. That’ll be my next move. But if you want to keep an eye on me, why don’t you move here?”
Noah studied him.
While his father’s manner was conversational, was there a touch of seriousness in that absurd suggestion?
“I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question.”
The corners of his father’s mouth tipped up. “More like wishful thinking, I suppose—but who knows? During your stay you might discover a reason to consider the idea. You couldn’t find a more welcoming and agreeable place to live.”
“My life and career are back in St. Louis.”
“So were mine.”
“You retired here. That’s different.”
“You want the truth? In hindsight, I wish I’d moved sooner. Why wait until you’re in the homestretch of your life to live the dream?” His father stood and began clearing the table. “How long can you stay?”
Apparently the relocation discussion was over. For today, at least.
And how had his dad managed to flip the conversation on its ear? This trip was supposed to be about a son convincing a father to move, not vice versa.
Noah drained his mug and rose too.
Despite the curve Dad had thrown him, he’d get the discussion back on track next go-round. Make it clear that moving wasn’t an option for a CPA who was in line for a partnership in the not-too-distant future.
“I took two weeks off.” Though if he accomplished his goal sooner, he’d cut that short. While clocking in from here every day would help him keep his finger on the pulse at the office, face time counted in his firm.
“Wonderful.” His dad clapped him on the back, face alight. “I can’t remember the last time I had you under my roof for such a long stretch.”
Noah’s conscience prickled as he carried his plate and cutlery to the sink. “My job keeps me busy.”
“Understood. I’m not trying to lay a guilt trip on you. I’m just glad you’re here.” His father joined him at the counter. “We’ll do some sightseeing together during your visit, but you should also chill on your own. You still run?”
“Yes.” His daily run and weight-bench workout at home were sacrosanct. “It gives me the energy for long hours of number crunching.”
“You should go for a run this morning, even if no number crunching is on your agenda. It would help clear any lingering pepper spray from your system, get you in a vacation mindset.”
“That’s not a bad idea—after I help you with the dishes.”
“Not today.” His father shooed him away. “I’ll get these done in a jiffy. Then I have a board meeting to attend.”
Board meeting?
That was news.
“With who?”
“Helping Hands. It’s a volunteer organization that does what the name says—offers a helping hand to anyone in the community who has a need.” His father squirted detergent into the sink. “It’s a joint effort of the two churches in town. I thought I told you about my involvement a couple of years ago.”
“It rings a vague bell.” Sort of. Meaning the conversation must have taken place during the crazy busy tax season, when his mind was focused on his job to the exclusion of almost everything else.
“I’ll tell you more about our work over lunch. Why don’t we meet at Charley’s, on the wharf, at noon? You do remember Charley’s, right?”
“Of course. A man doesn’t forget the best tacos he’s ever eaten.” In truth, they were one of his most vivid memories from his rare visits to town.
“Well said. I’ll see you then.”
Accepting the dismissal, Noah left his father to the dishes and retreated to the guest room to change into his running gear and contemplate his strategy going forward.
Since it was clear Dad not only loved living in Hope Harbor but was involved in local activities, the idea of him relocating could be an even harder sell than expected.
But if his father had the support system he claimed, perhaps there wasn’t as much urgency to convince him to move closer. In fact, it was possible he’d be better off here.
Noah crossed to his suitcase and pulled out his running gear.
Best plan? Take a week to get the lay of the land. Then, if everything appeared to be copacetic, he might be able to return to his job faster than anticipated and leave his dad in the hands of the citizens of his adopted town.
In the meantime, he’d enjoy his stay in this seaside hamlet—and hope it held no more unpleasant surprises like the one that had greeted him minutes into his arrival last night.