Page 27 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

Twenty-Six

CALLUM

T he lid to the lantern room is open and hanging on her hinges in the ocean breeze that’s decided this is the very minute to become the problem child. I wait, holding my breath, as the crane lowers the new lamp through the small, round opening.

The freighter with the crane and new lamp arrived an hour after Evie left with Em, and it’s my surprise for her. She’s heartbroken about the way the lamp met her timely end.

I mean, it needed replacing, anyhow. So I guess you could say this backed the Restoration Society into a corner. With the help of the Coast Guard, we were able to afford a new Fresnel.

We are officially back in business.

If the lamp makes it onto her platform without smashing into a million tiny little pieces, that is.

As soon as I can reach, I take her sling-bound body in my hands to steady her as she lowers down.

Everything is ready for her. I only need to make the connections, then secure her to the base. The test run will happen very soon.

And I have a plan for that.

The crane operator squawks out something over the radio. I snatch mine from my hip and count him down until the lamp is in position. Unhooking his apparatus from her, I squeeze the radio buttons again. “Up and out, bud.”

The oversized crane hook and straps float up and out of the lantern room.

I hold my breath until they clear the glass-walled room.

Checking the new lamp is in fact stationary and stable, I use a long stick with a hooked end to bring the lantern room’s dome back down and latch her shut.

With a tug to double-check she’s down tight, I turn back and fix the lamp.

The connectors don’t take too long to put together, but smaller hands would have made things easier. I realize I’ve gotten used to having Evie around. So much so, she factors into every part of my life now, consciously and subconsciously.

Every thought and decision runs through the Evie lens. How does this affect her, what would Evie want... It shouldn’t surprise me like it does. I’ve known for weeks how far gone I am for that little woman. Longer, if you count the nine months we spent before...

With the lamp in place, I double-check every point is installed correctly and head downstairs. Wiping my hands on a grease rag, I pad to the sink for a mug of water. I gulp down the cool liquid, staring out the window. On the distant offshore waters, a small boat sails along at a steady pace.

Or is it?

I squint, leaning closer to the window.

No, it’s anchored?

I cross the living room and grab the binoculars. Back at the window, I hold them up, taking a while to refocus and find the boat.

Odd.

Why would you anchor all the way out there? It’s too exposed. Too choppy, even on a good day.

They’re far too close to a shipping lane to be standing still. I can’t make out the name on the side of the boat. It’s either too weathered or too far out for the binoculars to focus on. With a grunt, I push from the sink.

I should radio out and see if they need help.

I should.

But I don’t.

Not after last time. It may be my duty to render assistance to all vessels who ask for it, but they ain’t asking. As far as I’m concerned, they’re right where they want to be.

Hell, so am I. I’m not risking that for anything.

Not anymore.

The drone of Em’s muscle boat carries in with the late afternoon easterly. I finish repotting the gnarly old citrus plants for what may be their last season. With the cooler weather around the corner, my chores have shifted like clockwork, as they do every season.

The footsteps crunching over gravel outside are unfamiliar.

I turn back in time to see the greenhouse door slide open.

“Hello?”

I don’t recognize the voice straight away. But the figure standing in the doorway is as familiar as looking in the mirror.

Reese.

Dropping the pot to the ground, I toss some mulch around the soil and water it as quick as the watering can will drain. Dusting my hands on my jeans, I walk toward my son.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say in lieu of hello.

“Wasn’t really the plan. But, you know . . .”

His hair is a mess, his clothes crumpled like he slept in them. It’s then I notice the small backpack hanging by a strap on his shoulder.

“Running away from home?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Bit old for that,” he says, his gaze not breaking from mine.

“Em bring you over?”

“If you mean the big guy in the blue uniform with the gnarly boat? Then yes.”

“That’d be him.”

“Is he like your brother or something?”

“Close enough.”

He gives me a meek smile and nods.

“Let’s go to the house. It’s coming up on dinner.”

“Oh, Iris gave me this to give to you.” He hands me an envelope. Inside is a piece of the café’s stationary.

I unfold it. Right away, I recognize the handwriting. Evie’s.

Cal,

We had the best day. When we made it back to the cafe, you had a visitor. So, I’m going to stay with Iris for the night and let you boys talk. Hash out the things you missed.

“You gonna be long?” Reese interrupts.

“You got some other place to be?” I give him a leveling stare.

His gaze hits the graveled path, and I drop mine back to the page.

I will miss you. And when I get home, it will be my turn to beg ? —

I flip the page over, sliding it back into the envelope. I’m not reading this with Reese hovering. The last thing I need to do is have to explain away a random boner while he’s here.

Christ.

“You can help me with dinner. I assume you eat.” I walk past him, heading for the house.

When no footsteps follow, I turn back.

He stands staring at me, an unreadable expression scrawled over his face.

“Come on, boy, you can tell me all the ways you hate your mother. I might even listen.”

The smallest of smirks moves the corner of his mouth, and he trudges after me.

I may have missed twenty years of his life, but we ain’t going to be able to fix that standing around staring at each other.

Inside, I toe off my boots and shove my cap on the hook next to Evie’s sun hat.

Reese hangs back before the threshold. I glance back but decide to let him take his time.

Everyone reacts differently to their first time here.

The fact that his father lives here, has lived here for his entire life, may have a distinct impact on him.

I pull the refrigerator open and slide out a pack of steaks.

Seasoning them in a tray, I set them aside.

Gathering ingredients for a salad, I toss them together with a smidge of Evie’s dressing.

Deciding to add tortilla chips and guacamole for a side dish, I load it all up onto a tray and head to the small grill on the eastern side by the fire pit.

As the steaks drop onto the grill, they hiss and smoke. Flames lick the meat, caramelizing it with every brush of heat. Reese drops into a chair at the firepit, a beer—my beer—in his hand.

Okay then.

“You eat it how it’s cooked. Serve the sides yourself,” I say, handing him a plate with the steak, nodding toward the sides on the chair between our seats. A six pack of beers sits at his feet.

I grab one and tear it out. Resting it beside my chair, I decide on eating, putting food into my mouth before something harsh runs out of it and I can’t take it back.

Reese eats like he hasn’t eaten a solid meal in days.

I know better than to feel sorry for him.

“Spill it, what’s got you out here?”

He lifts the beer to his mouth, hesitating before he takes a sip. With a swallow that moves his throat like he’s holding back something, he sighs before uttering, “She kicked me out.”

Not having anything constructive to say, I finish my food. Scraping the plate clean, I set it on the gravel and lean back and take a sip of the cool beer.

“She never used to be like that,” I offer up softly.

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t know. My whole life, she’s tried to control who I hang out with. Who I talk to. Where I go. And Da—” He clears his throat. “Craig says its genetic, I don’t get the rebel streak from him.”

“You got along with him growing up, though?”

He stares at me. “As much as any boy gets along with his dad.” He chugs a few mouthfuls of beer. “At least, I thought that’s what he was.”

“He’s still your dad, Reese. He raised you.”

“You’re very accepting of all this. Why didn’t you try to be part of my life? After Mom left?”

My mouth hangs slack. She didn’t tell him.

“I didn’t know you existed. Ava—your mother—” I clear my throat. “You want the truth or the sugar-coated version?”

I don’t know if I should be saying this to him. Hell, I’m no parent. I’m winging this, at best.

“I want the truth. I’m done being in the fucking dark.”

I force a smile. Sometimes the dark is less painful.

“She faked her death. Her parents moved away. I mourned you both. She was six months pregnant when I got the call she’d died of some pregnancy complication. I was at sea, in the Navy.”

His face goes through every registrable emotion. Finally, it settles on disgust. “Why?”

I take a sip of my beer. “I wasn’t exactly the town’s favorite kid. I was trouble. Off the rails. I’d done a lot of bad shit before I met your mom. She was adored. It was never going to end well.”

“That—” He tilts his head, his face bunching for a brief moment before he schools it back. “You sound like me...”

I huff a laugh, but it’s not the amused type. It’s strained, weighed down by two decades of baggage and grief. “I was way worse, bud. I was a mess. I ruined everything I touched. I guess the town thought they knew better.”

“You don’t know a thing about me.” Reese stares at the ocean, finishing one beer and starting another.

“I know enough.”

“What’s the town got to do with it?”

“They—well, many folks—took pleasure in my downfall. I’d finally got my shit together when your mom got pregnant with you. It was the first time since my parents died that I’d had hope.”

“And she took it all away.” He stares off into the distance.

“More like your grandparents did. But she never came back. Never sent word. Nothing. Until a month ago.”

“Jesus. That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, it’s fucked up.”

We sip our beers, sitting in the quiet.

Father and son.

My hope races ahead of reality once again. I couldn’t rein it in if I wanted to. As I glance at Reese, I can’t help but think maybe I can pull off this second chance.