Chapter 7
LUKE
For the past few weeks, Tom and I have been working with a crew to fix up some things that have been neglected, putting off the larger fixes until the weather warms up a little.
This early in the year, you never know what Bandon's coast will offer, and though we've had a few warmer days in the low sixties this January, it’s now encroaching on February and things have turned bitter again.
Guys don't deserve to have to come out here in forty-degree weather with sea spray beating them to fix the pylons.
I tug on my jacket and the sock hat I've grown used to wearing and step out the door, ready to head down to see the job foreman, Paul, and see if they need anything.
Other than maintenance, there isn't much for me to do this time of year.
There are a few tours that leave off pier one, and fishing charters run like clockwork off pier two, but winter is our downtime.
It's when marina staff get to relax and invest in self-care.
Except me, stuck here cleaning up things Dad should've always been maintaining. And all the while, a looming decision hangs over my head. Do I keep this place running as is and stick around? Hire someone to run it for me and lose profit on it? Or sell the thing and move on with my life?
My eyes scrape across the grey sky and brown landscape, coming to a halt on the parking lot below where Hannah is getting out of her car.
She wears a bright pink puffer coat and white sock hat, and she looks determined, or angry.
I can't tell which she is at any given moment because her resting bitch face always suggests some sort of brain activity behind the expression that she never speaks of.
She locks her car and starts up the steps to the pier while I stand watching.
I haven't been avoiding her, per se, but it isn't like I stand around waiting for her to show up just so I can chat.
This whole festival mess has us both uptight.
Her insinuating that I somehow owe this town because of Nick's death is ludicrous and offensive.
She forgets that I lost my best friend that day and that I've had to live with the guilt of knowing it was my vehicle that ran him over.
I turn, hoping to get down to pier two before she gets up here, but before I can take even three more steps, more tires crunch on gravel and I glance down to see that inspector's big city truck roll in too. Dammit, Hannah, this is the last thing I need.
My teeth clench together, but I duck my head, take a deep breath to calm myself, and brace every muscle in my body when I hear, "Oh, yoo-hoo, Luke!
" The sing-song tone isn't doing her any favors at all.
I know this game she's playing. I won't go along with her pleasant inquiry, so she's pressuring me through her connections in the city.
It's just the sort of thing that pisses me off—bullies acting like they're doing it for the greater good.
I think we call those people antiheros.
But I wipe the scowl off my face and turn back toward her, waiting for her to approach.
"Luke, gosh, I’m glad I caught you. I don't want to walk all the way out there this morning.
" She sounds winded, like she's out of shape, and I wonder if she does anything to keep herself fit like me.
My runs are essential to my routine. Without them, I feel like my limp and my mental state would just degrade faster every day.
"Well, I'm here." I nod and flick a glance again at Mrs. Reyes's truck.
"What can I do for you?" I have to force myself to be polite.
This isn't just a woman who has a bone to pick with me who annoys me.
Hannah is also my renter and if there are problems, I have to see to them.
I hardly think that's what this is, but professionalism is king right now.
"Well," she huffs, forcing a smile. Those cherry-red lips are supple, not dry and chapped like mine are from working out in the weather.
And when she licks them, I see a hint of that lipstick on her tooth.
It makes me want to smudge it away with my thumb, and I find myself staring, wondering if that lip color tastes as good as it looks.
"Mrs. Reyes is back with her findings, and she will want to show you where the fixes need to be instituted. "
I want to tell her to cut the crap and just talk to me like a human instead of pretending this ultra-professional city council shit, but two can play at this game.
"I hired Tom Whitaker to do these inspections two weeks ago.
We've already begun working on them. I don't think Mrs. Reyes's findings are necessary. "
Anger flashes through her eyes but her smile doesn't change at all.
She never skips a beat as she blinks rapidly and says, "This isn't a matter for a private contractor, Mr. Maddox.
" Ah, there it is, the anger coming out as she uses my last name instead of my first. I'm getting to her and she'll crack soon enough.
"The city has deemed it necessary to ensure the public's safety and—"
"And cut the crap, Hannah," I snip, letting the scowl come out. So much for professional. "I know you’re just trying to bully me into letting you use my property, and you can go ahead with all your inspections and repair mandates, but it won't work."
I watch her jaw clench and the fire light up her eyes.
Her lips purse and her nostrils flare, and when the wind gusts and tosses a few strands of hair into her face, she angrily whips her head to clear them.
Then she says, "I don't know why you're being so stubborn about this, Luke.
You know as well as I do that this is the only logical place for the festival, and the whole town would finally have a reason to love you instead of—"
"Good morning, Mr. Maddox, Ms. Brooks…" Mrs. Reyes's voice stops Hannah mid-sentence, and she sucks in a breath and calms her expression before turning around toward the approaching woman. She probably didn’t hear a word of the conversation over the crashing waves beneath us, but Hannah seems embarrassed.
"Good morning, Mrs. Reyes. I was just telling Mr. Maddox about your findings and that we need to walk through the site to lay out what repairs must be made.
" It's incredible how she can school her emotions so quickly like flipping a switch.
That ability of hers is actually fascinating, and though my anger and frustration remain coiled in my chest waiting to spring up and bite at any second, I find myself being able to set it aside to perform my professional duties much more easily thanks to Hannah.
"Wonderful, shall we go down below and have a look, then?" The woman's eyes catch mine, and even though I'd like to tell her to shove off, I have to do what she wants.
"Sure, let's go on down."
She takes the lead, turning back up the main dock toward the stairs, and Hannah falls right in step, chatting about the colder weather and how it will kill off bad bacteria so that spring can bring more health back to the air.
And I straggle behind, not limping as badly this morning but stewing instead.
We meander under the pier past a few fishermen in waders standing in the surf with lines taut, probably hoping for grouper that live under the pier around the pylons.
And every so often, the sand shifts under my feet as it's prone to do, forcing me to brace harder on this bad leg than I want to.
But finally, we're beneath the area where Paul and a few men are shoring up the loose boards, replacing ones that are rotted from weather.
"So, Mr. Maddox," Mrs. Reyes begins, pausing by one of the sunken pylons we intend to replace come May or June, "this one here, and that one down there, are the ones needing replacement.
" She points at them as she speaks, like I’m not smart enough to see it with my own eyes.
But I keep the anger out of my expression as I nod and respond.
"Of course. My man has already slated these two for repair, and when time allows, the other six toward the end, all one at a time so we don't have to shut down the pier to business.
" It'll take all summer at this rate, but I don't want to see any of these men who run fishing charters out of work any longer than necessary.
This way, they can earn their living and not skip a beat.
"That's all well and good, Mr. Maddox, but this is a matter of public safety, and I'd be remiss if I didn't point out how risky this is right now."
Mrs. Reyes keeps talking as Hannah wanders over toward one of the sinking pylons.
I watch her while I listen, but the lecture is going in one ear and out the other.
This is all Hannah's fault, anyway. I knew the instant I sat down at my father's desk and saw Tom's warnings to my father that this would be my path.
If I don't fix them, the property is worth less at market if I decide to sell.
But if I do fix them, I can keep it running or sell it at market value. It was a no-brainer.
"Whoa!" I hear overhead as the wind gusts and look up to see Paul swaying as one of the boards overhead shifts. A few tools fall from the edge of the pier into the surf below, and the pier gives a loud groan and creak too.
I feel a rumble under my feet, and without thinking, I know what's happening.
The pylon is shifting, sinking farther into the sand, and Hannah stands directly below where those men are working.
My body moves before my brain engages, and even though my leg screams at me to stop, I dart toward her, pulling her against myself.
Then I spin, wrenching my left hip as I grit my teeth, but I shelter her as the heavy toolbox Paul is using slides and crashes down to the sand right where she was standing.
It happens so fast she's shocked and trembling, but she's safe. Had she been standing there, that heavy toolbox would have hurt her pretty bad—a skull fracture or concussion, maybe worse.