Waiting for the One Page 18

  “Come with me,” tumbles from my mouth and he does, seconds later.

  Logan has a surprise for me and he is so excited that he’s got me really excited, not that anything can top the night we shared. Note to self: get a Jacuzzi tub. And then we reach our destination and I look over at him like he has completely lost his mind.

  “I’m not sure this is such a great idea,” I say.

  “It’s fantastic, trust me.”

  “Trust isn’t the issue here but that”—I point in front of me—“that is.”

  “You’ll love it, it will give you a whole new outlook.” He reaches for my hand and starts toward the docks.

  “I like my current outlook,” I mutter, but he doesn’t hear me since he’s too busy negotiating with the captain. Twenty minutes later we are heading out into the great wide open on a seventy-foot sport fisherman to game the almighty swordfish.

  I glance over at Logan, who’s chatting up the guy next to him: an old weathered-looking fella with gnarly hands and a bent back—kind of the quintessential old man of the sea. I can hear the stories from where I’m standing. I question the stated lengths of the fish he’s claiming to have caught, but there is no mistaking his clear love of fishing. There is an upside: this particular charter will not be hauling in the fish we catch. I detest swordfish, but only when they’ve been cut into steaks and grilled. The actual fish I have no quarrel with, and so I am happy to know that we will not be harming them.

  Once the boat gets out to where we’ll be trolling, Logan walks me to the stern where fishing chairs are arranged in a line with huge rods and reels attached to each. A vision of Jaws plays in my head. That fishing trip did not end well. I look to the horizon, but there is nothing but ocean as far as the eyes can see. A wave of nervousness washes over me. What if we run into Jaws out here or Moby Dick or, worse yet, an enormous squid? Glancing around the deck, I study those around us because we are all walking and talking chum for any sea monster waiting to devour us. How are we preparing to do battle to save our very lives? We’re strapping ourselves into chairs and serving ourselves up like a smorgasbord. Logan’s watching me and not even attempting to hide his humor.

  “You never saw Jaws, did you?”

  He’s laughing at me now so his answer is barely audible. “No.”

  I look at the old fisherman Logan was talking to earlier as he straps himself into his chair, but he’s looking at me with merriment in his old eyes. I nod at him. “Have you seen Jaws?”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet you’re assuming the role of Quint with no obvious discomfort.”

  His laugh sounds more like a cackle before he reaches for his fishing rod.

  I sit in my sacrificial chair and glance down at my faded jeans and sweater. “I really don’t want to spend the ever after in this outfit, Logan.”

  “Saffron, what is going on in that head of yours?”

  “You don’t want to know. Allow me to worry about all of our mortal—key word being mortal—souls.” I reach for his arm and squeeze. “Don’t worry, if it comes to it I’ll do us both.”

  “What?”

  I wave his question off. “Never mind, your lack of movie knowledge is shocking,” I say, though I pause to think that it’s good for me since he doesn’t realize that most of what I say comes directly from movies. “I’m ready, strap me in.”

  Well, at least if I find myself in the stomach of a sea monster today, it’s comforting to know that Logan will be right there with me.

  Logan hunches down in front of me with his hands resting on my thighs. “You really need to tell me everything that is going on in your head, because you have the oddest expression on your face.”

  Reaching for his hand, I try for a smile. “I was just thinking of you and me together for all eternity in the belly of a sea monster, who even now is slowly rising for the depths below.”

  His eyebrow raises and I reach out and touch it. “Is that hard?” I attempt to mimic his look, the arching of the brow that all men seem to master by the tender age of five, but when my one brow goes up, so does the other.

  “I was going to offer to get you a beer, but I’m wondering if you didn’t sneak some earlier in the room.”

  “Sober, stone-cold sober, I am. That is a condition needing some modification. Just keep the liquor coming, Logan.”

  He wraps my face in his hands and presses a hard kiss on my lips. “I love you, you crazy woman.”

  “Crazy like a fox,” I call after him, but he’s already disappeared inside the cabin. I turn my attention to the sea as the music from Jaws plays in my head.

  Three beers later and no one has caught a blessed thing. And no tentacles have shot out of the water either, so on all fronts we are looking good. Logan and I are sitting on the boat’s edge—no longer strapped in—and that’s when Earl, the old fisherman dude, grabs his line. The water sheets off the struggling fish like glass, the distinct swordlike nose pointing straight up into the air before he twists and turns and dives back into the water.

  “Oh my God, did you see that?” I holler.

  “A beauty, ten-footer,” Earl says.

  “Eleven,” I say. I can’t help the Jaws reference, which isn’t lost on Earl, who cackles again—deep and throaty from obvious years of heavy smoking—but it goes completely over Logan’s head.

  The magnificent swordfish jumps again. He is a little closer this time and with another graceful turn of his body, he dives again. To look at calm and collected Earl, you wouldn’t think he had that incredible fish on the end of his line. He expertly reels that baby closer.

  Half an hour passes and still man and fish battle for supremacy and then Earl looks up at me. “Want to bring him in?”

  “Me?”

  Earl hands the rod to Logan as he unstraps. “It’s one thing to watch, another to do.”

  Oh, wise Yoda.

  I sit down and Earl straps me in before Logan places the rod in the cup. Earl hands me his gloves.

  “Don’t try to reel it in. He’ll lead you, just follow.”

  The pull on the line, the tension on the rod, and the sight of that magnificent beast gracefully fighting for its life is awesome. I wouldn’t enjoy it nearly as much if we were killing what we caught. Honestly, after putting up such a fight, the fish deserves to live.

  Twenty minutes into it my arms and shoulders are killing me, so I can’t even begin to imagine how the fish is feeling what with all that wild jumping. We can’t actually bring it up to the boat since that nose could do serious damage, so the plan is to cut the line. Right before the line’s cut, the fish and I have a moment and I swear it’s almost like two battle-worn fighters acknowledging the skill of the other. And then the line goes slack and he’s free. As soon as he realizes it, he jumps one last time in victory before disappearing into the murky deep. I am awed, moved in a way I have never been before. Unstrapping myself from the chair, I launch myself into Logan’s arms.

  “Thank you. You were right. I have a whole new outlook.”

  His lips brush over my ear. “Life changing, isn’t it?”

  In the car heading home after the best week of my life, I notice we’re not on I-95 as we should be. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, but I do have one more surprise for you.”

  “Really? Do tell.”

  “We’ll be there in about half an hour.”

  “Where?”

  He spares me a glance. “You’ll see.”

  A half an hour later we’re passing a sign for a nursing home and pulling in to its parking lot. I notice the ambulances and wheelchairs by the doors.

  “Where are we?”

  “My guy located Margaret’s sister. I contacted her, explained who we were, and she was very excited at the idea of meeting.”

  A chill, like a wave, moves from my shoulders clear down my body. “She lives here?”

  “Yes. Are you mad I didn’t tell you?”

  I throw myself across the car, wrapping him into a tigh
t hug. “No.”

  “I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want you to be distracted during your first ever family vacation.”

  “God, I love you.”

  “Good, cause you’re stuck with me.” He kisses me, quick but thorough. “Let’s go. She’s waiting.”

  Madeline Ann Phillips is a resident of Briar Hall Nursing Home. She’s ninety, but in very good health, according to the receptionist.

  Logan and I are sitting in one of the common rooms: a tasteful room done in earth tones with little groupings of furniture conducive to conversation. A large wide-screen TV hangs from the wall in the distance, but far enough away that its noise won’t take over. Potted ficus trees are scattered about the space, and bookcases, filled with all the current popular fiction from floor to ceiling, line one wall.

  A petite woman is wheeled into the room by an orderly, who applies the brakes on her chair before taking his leave. Her hair is up in a bun and she’s wearing light makeup. Is this her sister? Is this what Maggie looked like?

  “Hello, I’m Saffron Mills”—my name is officially Dupree now, but I don’t want to confuse her—“and this is Logan MacGowan.”

  “Madeline Phillips. I was surprised to receive your call. You knew Frank?”

  “Yes.”

  “I haven’t heard that name in so long. I was sorry to hear about his death. Your young man mentioned you had something to ask me.”

  “Yes. I was very close to Frank. He left me his journals. While reading through them, I learned about your sister, Maggie, and how very important she was to him. He seemed to have felt her loss for the rest of his life. Frank was cremated but I still have his ashes at home because I couldn’t figure where I should lay him to rest, but after learning of your sister, I’d like to bury him with her.”

  Tears spring into Madeline’s eyes. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

  “Frank meant the world to me—I would love to know more about the woman that captivated his heart. He was something of a father figure to me. Please? I’d love anything you could give me.”

  Logan reaches for my hand and I know he’s doing so because he realizes I’m close to tears and he’s offering his silent support.

  Madeline is watching us with a slight smile curving her lips, but it fades as she says, “Maggie was so young when she died. I guess I should start from the beginning. We were poor, really very poor, and our dad worked the docks with Frank. That’s how Maggie and Frank met. Dad brought him home for dinner one night and boy did the sparks fly. They were inseparable and it wasn’t just romance; it was like seeing a soul torn in two brought back together again.

  “It really was a wonderful thing to watch and I was envious of them and what they had found in each other. Never found it myself. They could sit for hours and just talk, never seeming to run out of things to say. She taught Frank how to relax and laugh and he taught her how to find beauty even in the ugliest of situations.

  “They wanted to marry right away, but my dad asked that they wait until she was at least eighteen. So they did, and every time they planned to marry, something would happen to push the date back. It became a little bit of a family joke! But almost four years after they met, the date was set, the rings purchased, and the dress sewn.

  “One week before the wedding, Frank and Maggie were out at dinner. The problem with the two of them was that they tended to forget anyone else was around. Maggie wasn’t paying attention to where she was going as they walked home. Frank had stopped, though, to purchase flowers for her at the corner stand. Neither of them saw the out-of-control truck barreling down the street. We lived near the docks and, though it wasn’t a really congested lane, it did see its share of trucks making deliveries. By the time Frank realized what was happening, he was too far away and the truck was too fast.

  “He held her broken, lifeless body in his arms for hours until the cops had to pry her away from him. He changed after that, but who could blame him. Then Pearl Harbor happened and he enlisted and just left everything behind. I never saw him again.

  “Years later when I was going through Maggie’s things, I realized he hadn’t left everything behind. He had taken a reminder of her. They used to sit for hours in front of an old chess set that Maggie had picked up at the local pawnshop. Frank was always trying to teach her, but she was a terrible student. It made my heart happy to know that he took that piece of her with him.”

  Tears spill down my cheeks as Logan presses a tissue into my palm. “I have that chess set now. Frank tried to teach me on it too, but I wasn’t any better a student than Maggie.”

  The smile that spreads over Madeline’s face touches my heart with its sad beauty. “Maggie would have liked that.”

  She’s quiet for a moment before she adds, “In all of my life I never again saw sparks like I did with Frank and Maggie, but I’m seeing them now. Treasure each other.”

  Two days later, after a call to Broderick, we are standing in front of Maggie’s grave as a priest offers a prayer. When it’s time for me to relinquish Frank’s remains for good, I have trouble letting go. I send Frank my own silent prayer.

  Thank you for always being there for me, for being my family. I miss you so much and I love you. If only there was a sign to let me know that this is what you want. I hope wherever you are, dearest Frank, that you are happy and that Maggie is at your side.

  With great difficulty I hand the urn over to the caretaker and as soon as Frank is placed with Maggie, it starts to snow. My face tilts back to see the gray clouds as my heart sighs. It’s my sign. Frank always loved the snow.

  “Are you okay?” Logan asks with a soft tone.

  I nod in reply and step into his arms to rest my head on his chest. I am and I think that Frank is now too.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Frank left me a house in Upper Nyack and I would like to turn it into a sort of dormitory for students from abroad studying at the colleges and universities in New York. There will be a staff, den mothers responsible for providing a homelike environment, and therapists to help these teenagers with the transition. I haven’t a clue where to start, but I am hoping that you will help me through it,” I say to Logan’s brothers.

  After seeing Frank in his final resting place with Maggie, I am more determined to give them both this legacy. Dante and Broderick were kind enough to join me in the lighthouse to plan. To Frank, I believe that house was a reminder of what he had and lost. And though in life he never married Maggie and they were never legally bound, I want to bring their legacy together now. I told Madeline about my hopes for Dupree House. She gave me a few pictures of Frank and Maggie that I will frame and have on the walls in the Nyack house as a tribute to them.

  “Absolutely, we’ll help. There are thousands of steps from here to opening the doors. Dante and I can help you through the legal and business ends,” says Broderick.

  “I would like that, but I imagine it’s all very detailed. I’d hate to make it even longer for you since you’re donating your time for this.”

  “Okay, we’ll take it as we go. Creating the job descriptions for the staff, the den mothers, and therapists you mentioned, that’s a good place to start. But before we do anything, you need a sit-down with the Board of Directors for the governing board of higher education for the state of New York.”

  My confusion must be easy to see, so Broderick explains. “You’re looking to set up a dormitory that will house students, paying students, for the universities and colleges this board represents. You want Dupree House listed as a housing option, but off campus. That goes against most of the established rules regarding matriculating freshman. You need to pitch your idea, explain what Dupree House can offer these students coming here from abroad. You need to sell them on the idea. If they like it, you’ll qualify for funding through the state, which will help with the ongoing cost to keep Dupree House running long-term.”

  “I was so excited with the idea, I didn’t think it all through.”

 
“It’s a great idea, Saffron, but without their approval, Dupree House will never get off the ground. That doesn’t mean we can’t try another tack, but affiliation to the universities and colleges will be out.”

  “Let’s use me,” Logan says from his spot across the room.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “David Cambre, he’s an example of the kind of student you’re trying to help with Dupree House. I’ll come with you and publicly support your idea, share with them my own experiences and how I could have benefited from a place such as Dupree House.”

  “But you hate all the press David gets.”

  “Yeah, but this is a chance to use David’s celebrity for something good. Hell knows, I’ve dealt with the downside of it. Now we can capitalize on the good side of it.”

  “You would do that?”

  “For you, absolutely, but it’s more than that. Frank was a good man, and this idea of yours, it’s just plain good.”

  “Thank you.” After a moment I turn to Broderick and Dante. “All of you, seriously, thank you.”

  “Our pleasure,” Broderick says and adds, “besides, Logan would have kicked our asses if we said no.”

  I’m in town food shopping, taking a break from the job descriptions I’ve been working on all morning. Dante called earlier and got us a meeting with the Board of Directors, so I need to start thinking about my pitch, but first I need food. We’ve been away long enough that I’m going to have to feed Reaper dust bunnies.

  I see Chastity farther down the street and am tempted to duck into a store because the Seaweed Festival is coming. Though I have been blackballed, there is still the chance she’ll find something, most likely unpleasant, for me to do. The way she’s walking, unlike her normally brisk no-nonsense walk, finally penetrates. She’s almost dragging her feet. Picking up my pace, I come up next to her only to see her flushed face and damp cheeks.