Читать книгу Those Cassabaw Days - Cindy Miles - Страница 12

CHAPTER THREE

EMILY COULD BARELY believe she was standing inside the Malones’ river house after so many years. Everything was exactly the same. The decor favored a true authentic nautical theme at its rawest. On the walls, an old cast net and faded blue-and-white wooden paddles decorated the space way above the brick fireplace. It had been fishing gear once belonging to Jep’s father. Known by everyone on Cassabaw, Patrick Malone had been the island’s very last lighthouse keeper. Emily remembered black-and-white pictures of him. Straight from Galway, Ireland, Patrick and his wife, Annie, had brought little Jep to Cassabaw when he was only seven, and from there, the Malone legacy grew.

An old red-and-blue faded buoy leaned against the hearth, and a restored seaman’s chest served as a large coffee table. Two large, dark leather sofas took up the space in the middle of the open room. Not bad at all for a bunch of guys. Then again, Owen and Jep had been in the Coast Guard. And Matt in the marines. Orderly. Neat. It was a trademark.

“Just like you remember?” Nathan asked.

Emily smiled and faced him. “Exactly like I remembered. Even smells the same. And has the same record player in the corner.” Jep always played old music from the twenties and thirties. It probably was why Emily grew to love the vintage melodies and orchestras of the time.

Nathan, too, had turned out to be a handsome guy. As tall as Matt and just as broad and muscular, he was two years older. He was the oddball of the Malones, with longer dark blond hair streaked by the sun, and half of it pulled into a short ponytail. And he did remind her of a samurai warrior. His skin was swarthy and tanned, but those trademark Malone green eyes stared down at her, curious. They differed from Matt’s, which were cautious, sharp and a bit angry. Sad, maybe? Even when he smiled, she could see it in there. She couldn’t help but wonder.

Her eyes searched for Matt, who still hadn’t come inside. She found it sort of funny that she was inadvertently looking for him.

“I remember you and Matt throwing plastic army men from the railing up there and bombing me and Eric while we watched cartoons,” Nathan continued. He rubbed his head as if he’d just been hit by one. “Those damn little things are hard as hell, and hurt.”

Emily laughed and glanced up at the high wooden catwalk that connected one side of the house to the other. It was open from the floor up, maybe fifteen feet or so.

“We tossed down more than just plastic army men,” she giggled.

“Don’t let Dad and Jep hear you say that,” Matt said from behind. Emily jumped and spun around, and Matt eyed his brother. His mere presence filled the room. “We pretended to be rescue swimmers and launched over the rail a few times ourselves. Maybe more than a few.” He turned to her, and his gaze was quiet but steady. Daring, almost.

Emily’s heart leaped. For a second, he looked like a young, eight-year-old Matt.

Owen Malone walked into the living room. Tall and still handsome, he’d retained his Coast Guard physique through the years. And although in his sixties, he still had quite a lot of chestnut hair, sprinkled with silver, and kept it cut short. He draped an arm over her shoulders.

“So what are you kids talking about?”

Emily’s gaze shot to Matt’s, and her eyes widened. She cleared her throat. “Just...old times,” she said, trying not to laugh.

Owen gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’re home, Emily,” he said. “And you’re welcome over here anytime.”

Emily liked his sincerity. Owen Malone was indeed a gentle soul. “Thanks, Mr. Malone.” She cocked her head. “I really like your skin.” She looked up at him and smiled wide. “Reminds me of a perfectly aged copper penny.”

Owen laughed. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “It is.”

“Do you always do that?”

Her eyes moved directly to Matt’s—he was intently watched the interaction. For a split second, his face softened.

She knew exactly what he was talking about. “Yes, I do. I like to find something right off the bat appealing about a person and let them know what it is.” She shrugged. “I find it a rather useful bonding agent. Plus, it lets people know I pay attention to them.”

Nathan laughed, and Owen gave her a gentle hug. “I think it’s a fine quality, Emily.”

“Thank you.” She looked at Matt. Just as she could see sadness in Nathan’s eyes, there was something altogether different in Matt’s. Almost feral. Yet she also felt like he saw completely inside of her.

“Let’s head to the kitchen, then,” Owen said, and tugged on Emily’s shoulders. “Eric will be home any minute with supper.”

Emily allowed Owen to lead her through the foyer and into the wide-open kitchen, where Jep stood in front of an enormous white enamel stove, stirring something in a big white enamel pot. Still wearing those baby blue coveralls, he now donned a red apron. Jep had to be all of eighty years young, and although his hair was now silver throughout, he had plenty of it.

“I like your hair, Jep,” she announced. “The way it flips up by your neck and over your ears. Reminds me of the feathers of a snowy owl.”

Jep stared at her from the stove. “An owl, you say?”

She grinned and nodded. Nathan again laughed.

“Well, I suppose that’s all right. You like potatoes, missy?” Jep called loudly from the stove. He glanced over his shoulder at Emily. She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Round here we eat lots of potatoes. Good solid Irish fare.”

Emily patted her stomach. “Yes, sir. I love them.”

“Would go really nice with pie,” Jep added.

Emily laughed, and just as Owen was leading her toward a set of French doors that led out onto a massive veranda overlooking the marsh, another male voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Holy God, in no way is that little Emily Quinn!”

Emily whirled around and saw Matt’s younger brother, Eric, smiling wide. Holding a brown paper bag in one arm and a plastic bag filled with two-liter sodas in the other, he set them both on the counter and headed straight for her.

“Excuse me, Owen,” Eric teased, moving in front of his dad and throwing his arms around Emily in a tight hug. He pulled back and looked down at her, grinning. “You used to be all knees and elbows!”

Emily laughed, holding him away and inspecting the youngest Malone.

“Yeah, and you used to be missing your two front teeth.” She studied him closely, peering at his mouth. “I really like your teeth now. Reminds me of really white pearls. Only square. Maybe more like Chiclets.” Against his tanned skin Eric’s teeth did look like pearls.

Eric burst out laughing. “Well, thank you! I think!”

“And we used to beat the crap out of you,” Matt said, suddenly beside her.

“Not true, bro,” Eric argued. He wore a white USCG hat, a navy blue short-sleeved shirt with a USCG patch and Station 34 embroidered onto the chest and navy trousers. Handsome as all get-out, just like all of the other Malones. “You used to beat the crap out of me. Emily here would smack you on the head and tell you to stop.”

“Uh-huh.”

A hand moved to Emily’s lower back and before she knew it, Matt was guiding her away from Eric and through the French doors and out onto the veranda.

“Sit here,” he said, pulling out a chair. Emily sat. Matt’s eyes locked onto hers. “Enjoy being a guest, since this is your first day home and all. The next time, Jep will probably put you to work.”

“I think he already has,” she admitted. “He’s put in an order for pies.”

A half smile crossed Matt’s face, and he shook his head. “He’s got zero filter. You two will get along great. His hearing is going fast, so he’s not yelling at you. He just talks loud.”

Matt disappeared through the French doors, and Emily breathed, took everything in. It was a lot. It wasn’t enough. It was...fabulously perfect.

Looking out over the rising tide of the Back River over Morgan’s Creek, she drew in the air. Salty and delicious. Had she been back only a few hours? How she wished Reagan was here, too.

Before long, the Malone men shuffled from the kitchen and onto the veranda, their arms laden with supper stuff. Roasted chicken was laid out on a platter; Jep’s mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and rolls accompanied the main course. Nathan set a basket of silverware and napkins down, along with heavy green plates and glasses to match. Eric opened a bottle of soda and Jep set down a pitcher of iced tea.

“We’ll say grace now,” Jep announced.

Eric pulled off his hat, and Jep began.

“Dear Lord, thank You for this day, and thank You for not only bringing my hardheaded grandson back home safe from Afghanistan, but also for bringing little missy back to Cassabaw. It’s been a while since I had good pie. Amen.”

Emily grinned as she opened her eyes and when she lifted her head, Matt was watching her. Intense. Steady.

It nearly knocked the wind from her lungs.

“All right, let’s eat!” Eric said.

Over the next half hour, everyone ate, and the Malones made idle chitchat, asking about Emily’s life in Bethesda.

“So what’s your little sister up to these days?” Owen asked.

Emily swallowed a mouthful of potatoes and wiped the corner of her mouth. “She’s enlisted. The air force. Afghanistan right now.”

“Are you serious? Little Reagan? The air force?” Eric said, and nodded. “Impressive.”

“You got a fella, missy?” Jep blurted.

Emily’s gaze slid to Matt’s, then back to Jep. She shook her head. “No, sir. Not anymore.”

Everyone in the room went dead quiet for several seconds. Then Owen spoke. “Well, he’ll never know what a treasure he’s missed out on.”

“Thanks, Mr. Malone,” she answered with a grin. “It wasn’t awful or anything. We were just...too different, is all. His family is heavily into the political scene on the Hill. And I’m—” she grinned and shrugged “—a little saltier than that.”

“Salty, you say?” Jep repeated. “I like salt. Makes your spine straight and your legs anchored.”

Emily grinned. “Yes, sir, it does.” She turned to Nathan. “So have you always worked the trawler with your dad and Jep?”

Again, the veranda grew quiet. Nathan slowly shook his head. “No, that’s a fairly recent development,” he explained. “I just left the Coast Guard last year. Alaska.”

Emily could tell by the sad light in Nathan’s eyes that something tragic had happened. Had something gone wrong with a rescue? She wasn’t about to scratch open any fresh wounds, and from the looks of it, no one was willing to talk about it.

“Well, I’m sure your dad and Jep are glad to have you home.”

Nathan simply gave her a smile and a nod. “Yes, ma’am, I suppose they are.”

“And now it’s like a damn summer camp around here again,” Jep said. “Three boys moved out. Three boys moved back in.”

“You missed us, Jep,” Eric accused.

Jep grumbled something unintelligible, possibly Irish Gaelic. Emily remembered he’d used it now and then when they were growing up. The thought made her smile.

“Jep, I’ve got to work on Emily’s Jeep for a few days,” Matt finally said. “I told her it’d be okay if she used your truck until I had hers running again.”

Jep’s gaze immediately darted to Emily’s. Green eyes gleamed as they narrowed, the weathered skin at the corners crinkling. His face was filled with lines of years and sun and wisdom and mischief. He didn’t hesitate. “You know what that means, don’t you, missy?”

Emily smiled and gave a nod. She didn’t miss a beat, either. “Pies.”

Jep winked. “You’re catching on fast. I like that.”

“Jep’s old truck is three on the tree—”

“Manual transmission, Emily. Stick shift, three gears,” Eric clarified with a grin.

Matt shook his head. “A little stiff to shift into gear,” Matt continued. “If you want to run over to the Windchimer, I’ll ride with you. Make sure you can shift it okay.”

Another ride in an enclosed area with the mysteriously quiet ex-marine Matt Malone. She supposed she could withstand it again. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

Emily helped clear the table, but the guys shuffled around her like a military base camp. Everyone seemed to have their duties, and they did them well. It was beyond impressive—especially since Trent and his family had servants to do their chores. And when Trent had visited Emily at her apartment? He’d obviously forgotten that she didn’t have servants. He’d sit back and allow her to handle everything domestic. It had been sort of fun at first—cooking for him, taking care of him.

Nadine, an older woman from work, had scoffed at Emily, saying it was because she was a nurturer. As if that was a terrible, awful disease. Now that she thought about it, though, the way Trent allowed her to nurture him annoyed the absolute bull mess out of her. That would definitely be something to chalk up to lessons learned. Not that Trent had been a bad guy. He’d actually been very sweet and thoughtful.

Before long, the veranda was back in order, dishes were stacked in the dishwasher and she and Matt were headed out. The sun hovered over the river, and shadows stretched long across the yard. The chorus of frogs and crickets pitched and echoed through the pines.

“Don’t be a stranger, now,” Owen called to her. “This side of Morgan’s Creek is awful glad to have you back.”

Emily’s heart melted a little. What a sweet man. She threw her hand up and waved. “Thanks again, Mr. Malone. I sure won’t.”

Eric and Nathan followed her and Matt down the steps and around the back of the house to a smaller lean-to. Matt disappeared, an engine roared to life and within seconds an old faded blue Chevy pickup began backing out.

“That thing is a beast,” Eric said, grinning. He stood beside her, arms crossed over his chest. “You sure you can handle it, Emily?”

Emily liked Eric’s easygoing, somewhat cocky character. He hadn’t changed much in that department.

“I can handle it,” she assured him.

“A girl with confidence,” Eric said, and clapped her on the back. “I like that.” He leaned close to her ear. “Do you like younger men? I’m definitely open to dating older women.” He flashed a toothy smile. “What do ya say?”

Emily laughed. “You’re still a ham, you know that?”

Eric smiled wider. “That’s no answer.”

Emily waved. “Bye, Eric.”

He just laughed and shook his head.

When Matt stopped the truck, Emily walked to the driver’s side and waved to his brothers. “Bye, guys. See ya round.”

Matt slid past her as she jumped in and closed the door. On the passenger’s side, he climbed in, reached over and killed the engine. “Now you start it.”

Emily did as he asked and pushed in the clutch, then started the engine. Although the engine felt a little stiff, she shifted into First and started down the shady drive. At the end of it, she pulled out onto the two-lane, picked up speed and shifted into Second, heading for the boardwalk.

“Not bad,” Matt remarked. “Hit Third.”

It took a little muscle, but Emily shifted once more. The gear grinded a bit, but caught and they continued on.

“Eric’s right. This thing is a beast,” she said, giving Matt a quick look. “But I’m grateful to have it. Thanks.”

Along the road, the dusk shadows lurched beneath the canopy, and the salty late-May breeze blew in through the opened windows. Matt’s presence beside her filled the cab of the old truck—he was almost crowding her and she felt a fluttering in her stomach. He had this smoky voice that she liked listening to. And that profound, brooding stare unsettled her—or rather, her reaction to it did.

“You remember Miss Mae Kennedy? She still lives there,” Matt said, pointing out a coral-colored cottage with a white concrete seahorse mailbox as they moved through the little neighborhood.

“She’s the lady who was friends with your mom in high school, wasn’t she?” Emily asked. “She used to make those chocolate cupcakes with white frosting and bring them over to your house, every single week.”

Matt’s gaze stayed on the house as they passed it. “Yeah, she did. I stopped by to see her after I got here.” He looked at her. “I don’t remember my mom, Em. Only in pictures. I remember yours, though.” He quieted for a moment. “She laughed a lot. Like you.”

Downshifting, Emily rolled to a stop at the intersection and held Matt’s gaze in the hazy light of dusk. Matt’s mom had died of cancer when he was four, leaving Owen and Jep to raise three small boys. Eric had just turned a year old.

“Yeah, she did. I remember her, too,” Emily answered. The ache she always got when she missed her parents settled into the pit of her heart.

“It still hurts,” Matt said pointedly.

Emily nodded. “Sometimes. It’s like someone is squeezing my insides in their hand.” The light turned green, and she started forward. “I was so angry for a while. Like they left me on purpose or something. But I have mostly good memories. I choose to focus on and remember those. They’re fun, and they make me feel happy.”

“So what does being here do?”

Emily followed the curve, and the gray Atlantic coastline came into view. She sighed.

“I’m not sure yet, Matt Malone.” She glanced at him, and he regarded her closely. “I’m sort of winging this whole alone thing. But right now it feels...right to be here.” It felt right that Matt was here, too.

Wordlessly, he nodded.

The backside of the Windchimer came into view, and Emily slowed and pulled the truck into the small parking lot behind the café. The old Chevy’s door squeaked as she opened and closed it, and Matt rounded the truck and stood close to her. Again, she felt crowded, as if Matt’s body took up all the space and air surrounding her. The sounds of the surf breaking, gulls crying and a lone wind chime tinkling in the wind infiltrated Emily’s senses nearly as much as Matt’s presence did. It threw her into sensory overload. She breathed in the sea air.

“Well,” Matt said. He rubbed his head with his hand, then dragged his fingers across his jaw. He glanced behind her. “Let’s go check it out.”

Even in the fading light of dusk, the way Matt studied her so thoroughly made her aware of, well, everything. He’d always had that quality, though. Almost a commanding characteristic that made people pay attention closely. Even as a kid, he could speak to her, and she’d feel compelled to listen.

She gave a nod. “Okay, let’s go.”

They crossed in silence to the wooden boardwalk leading to the beachfront, where sea oats waved in the constant coastal breeze. The Windchimer faced the ocean along a boardwalk of several other establishments. It was brightly painted in a soft pink with white concrete columns, and a swirling mural along the side of the building that depicted sea turtles, mermaids and sand dollars. A long wood-planked covered deck, housing several tables, had a beautiful view of the sea and pier.

A loud clap of thunder boomed over the water. Emily jumped. Big fat plops of rain smacked her skin. Matt was silent as his gaze fell on her, then dropped to her mouth and lingered there before he raised his eyes back to hers.

“I, uh, guess we’d better get inside,” Emily said, fishing the key from her pocket.

“Yep,” Matt agreed.

As she pushed the key into the lock and opened the door, Matt flipped on the light switch and a soft amber hue fell over the café’s interior.

“Let’s go,” she said, and excitement flushed her. “I’ll make a list of supplies while you make a list of repairs.” She turned and pressed her lips in a tight line. “Okay?”

Lightning flashed through the storefront windows, followed a few seconds later by a thunderous boom. The rain fell in buckets now, a fast, turbulent sea storm. “Storms are magical mantles of fairy wrath, don’t you think?”

“Yep,” Matt finally answered. Without another word, he walked to the back of the café and began his inspection.

Emily watched her now grown-up best friend, who filled out his jeans in a way that made her pause. Narrow hips. Broad shoulders. Confident swagger. He wasn’t the same Matt Malone from before. She wasn’t the same Emily. Not kids, but adults. Each with pasts.

Which just might be the problem.

Or, not.