Firefly Beach (23 page)

Caroline headed into the bar, menus tucked under her arm. She tried to be cool, glancing through the group for Joe. He wasn’t there. His crewmates were laughing, talking loudly about the artifacts they had found that day, excited about the progress. Spotting Sam, Caroline walked over.

“Hi, there,” she said, smiling.

His grin was huge. Brushing dark blond hair out of his eyes, he knocked his glasses off his nose. Bending over to retrieve them, he spilled beer on the floor.

“Yikes,” he said. “Sorry. You’re Caroline, right?”

“Right. And you’re Sam.”

“I wasn’t sure it was you,” Sam said, bobbling his beer mug to shake her hand. “Last time I saw you, it was pretty dark.” Still grinning, he seemed to be studying her. Caroline flinched, embarrassed.

“What?” she asked.

“You don’t look evil and despicable,” Sam said, peering down at the top of her head, ducking for a better look at her eyes.

“Is that what you’ve heard I am?”

“All my life,” Sam said. “This is kind of momentous, me standing here talking to a Renwick. If I hadn’t seen Joe doing it the other night, I’d feel disloyal. Fraternizing with the enemy, you know?”

“Think how it makes me feel, serving you dinner,” Caroline said.

“I see your point,” Sam agreed. “So, are you and Joe all made up now?”

“What does he say?” Caroline asked.

“Say? Joe doesn’t say anything. Haven’t you figured that out by now?” At Caroline’s blank expression, Sam nodded. “Joe likes geophysics best, but he’ll also talk about salinity in the water column and advancements in marine technology. He’s pretty good on the subject of satellite navigation, and you can’t shut him up once he gets going on new methods of carbon dating the stuff he finds in wrecks. But otherwise…”

“A man of few words,” Caroline said.

“You got it.”

Some of the scientists and pirates had made their way down the bar. They were talking to a group of pretty women watercolorists from Atlanta, up for their annual week at the Renwick Inn. Caroline stared at Sam Trevor and felt herself starting to smile. He had that effect on her, as she suspected he had on nearly everyone he met. He had a cute gap between his front teeth. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. His glasses were crooked, as if he frequently sat on them.

“Why do you think he came here?” Caroline asked. “With all the wrecks in all the oceans, why did he decide to dive on the
Cambria
?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Sam said, jabbing her with his elbow as if she’d just made a good joke.

“I’m not,” she said. “I promise.”

Sam turned serious. “She’s a substantial wreck,” he said, “historically and from a treasure-hunting point of view. Joe goes for the gold. No matter what the other factors, if he’s not going to get rich on a dive, he doesn’t do it.”

“Really?”

“Really. The
Cambria
went down on a shoal, so you’d think the water would be shallow. But she slid into a trench, one of the deepest in Long Island Sound.”

“Trench?”

“A geological feature of the sea bottom,” Sam explained apologetically. He wasn’t being a showoff, Caroline could see. He was a young nerd, pure and simple. He and Joe might have shared the same field, but their styles were completely different. Looking at this bespectacled scientist, she thought of Joe, his dark tan and sun-lightened hair, his pirate eyes and sexy arms, and she smiled at how different—yet the same—two people could be. Like herself and her sisters.

“So, the hole is deep, but Joe has the equipment. The tides and currents are fluky. The water’s cold, and most of Joe’s crew are southerners. The wreck is unstable—the bow lies on rock, and the stern’s wedged in muck—he has to constantly analyze how the structure behaves under stress….”

“Sounds impossible to me,” Caroline said, laughing nervously.

“Does to other salvage teams too. That’s why it’s good for Joe. He’s got the best boat going, and a crew to match. The site happens to be excellent for his area of geological interest. First and foremost, my brother’s an oceanographer. He takes risks no one else would, and it always pays off for him.”

“Were those the other factors you mentioned before? The risks?”

“No,” Sam said, blinking his owl eyes. “The other factor is you.”

Caroline felt her face redden. She looked down at her shoes, then back at Sam. His face was kind, as if he had just broken some hard news to her and was waiting for her to absorb it.

“Me?”

“Well, yeah. You must know that. Whatever happened between you guys wigged him out big-time. Coming anywhere near you had to carry a lot of weight in his decision to salvage the
Cambria.
”

“Wigged him out,” Caroline mused.

“Yeah. Frankly, I’m surprised we’re having dinner here. At the Renwick Inn. No offense or anything. But the Renwick name…”

“Strikes fear into the hearts of pirates,” Caroline said.

“Exactly,” Sam said solemnly.

“Does that mean he won’t be joining you tonight?” Caroline asked, hoping she sounded casual.

“No, he’ll be here,” Sam said.

Caroline wasn’t sure how she felt when she saw Joe Connor park his truck and climb out. She watched him stretch. She saw his tan forearms flex, his shoulder muscles strain under his blue plaid shirt. He tucked the tails into his jeans, and she noticed his flat stomach, his broad chest. He was tall and handsome, and as she remembered kissing him on board the Meteor, she felt her face flush.

But fresh in her mind were Sam’s words: “evil and despicable,” that Caroline had “wigged Joe out” early, that he was surprised Joe would even want to eat at her inn. She felt her back stiffen.

He stood in the lobby with his feet planted wide, his rough hands in the pockets of his jeans. She felt the tingle in her neck.

“Hi, Joe,” she said.

“Hi,” he said, looking surprised to see her. “You work this late?”

“I own the place,” she said. “I’m around here most of the time.”

“Kind of like the captain,” he said, trying a smile. “You’re never quite off duty.”

“Your table’s ready,” she said, leading him into the dining room.

Everyone ordered steaks and salad, though the Renwick Inn was obviously an oyster and fois gras kind of place. Joe watched his crew swilling beer, ripping into the rare beef, telling sea stories, and he sensed the artists recoiling. Twice he told his men to lower their voices and watch their language, but the volume kept creeping up. So did the expletives.

Joe had told himself Caroline wouldn’t be there tonight, but now that he had seen her, he couldn’t stop watching for her. All his attention was focused on the dining room door. She drifted by twice, looking sleek in her long black dress. Both times, she glanced over at the big table. But that was probably because they were causing such a ruckus. Sam was telling a long story about raising research money from the National Science Foundation, and Dan kept interrupting with a tale about prostitutes in Fiji. Joe hardly heard. His eyes were on the door.

After dinner they took over the bar. Several artists from New York called them to their table. They compared tattoos. The artists had flowers, butterflies, and barbed wire. The sailors had women’s names, ships’ insignias, and serpents. More beer flowed. A few guys supplemented theirs with shots of Southern Comfort. Joe remembered the old drinking days, could practically feel the hot burn going down. He watched Sam drink a shot and realized he had never drunk with his brother.

Without telling anyone, Joe stepped outside. The fresh air felt good. Standing around bars didn’t feel right anymore. The old desires came back strong. Being at sea, he didn’t get to enough AA meetings. He knew it, and he tried to keep himself out of slippery places.

Joe stood in the herb garden. The heady smell of thyme and verbena reminded him of Greece. The summer night was warm, the breeze still. The inn was brightly lit. Music and loud voices came from the bar, and he had the familiar sense of being apart from the action. Watching through the old glass windows, he saw Caroline walk into the bar. She glanced around, and Joe wondered who she was searching for. He thought maybe she was looking for him. For just that second the scent of herbs grew stronger, made him dizzy.

An old Porsche pulled up. Two people got out. They clutched each other, wobbled against their car, kissed long and hard. Pulling apart, they laughed and hurried into the inn. They stumbled into the bar, and ordered drinks. The girl was beautiful. Small and slim, she looked like Caroline, only blond. She raised her glass to clink the man’s, but Caroline stepped between them. Curious, Joe went inside.

“Don’t, Skye,” Caroline was saying, her hand on the girl’s wrist. “Do you remember Dad standing in this exact spot? Do you remember how it made us feel to watch him disappearing?”

“Caroline, she’s a big girl,” the man said, too cool to register any expression in his eyes. He was skinny, dressed in black, with long, dark hair falling across his sickly, pale face. Some of the artists knew him; they had walked over, then faded back at the first sign of an altercation.

“Stay out of it, Simon,” Caroline snapped.

The glass was full of champagne. Joe saw it catch the candlelight. The bubbles flowed in a thick stream to the surface. The girl wavered. She looked from Caroline to the skinny artist and back again.

“It’s just one glass,” she said.

“Think of Dad,” Caroline said, her voice catching in her throat.

“This has nothing to do with him,” Skye said, fixing her sister with a wild stare. “Leave me alone.”

“We can leave,” Simon said. “If that’s what you want. We arranged to meet
friends
here—inn guests, as a matter of fact. Trent and Anya, you must know them. They live on St. Marks Place, take their two weeks here every summer….”

“Simon, shut up,” Caroline said dangerously.

“I hate when you fight,” Skye said. “Don’t fight.” She took a sip, and another. With something that sounded like a sob, Caroline walked out of the bar.

Joe started to follow her. But Sam beat him to it. Joe watched his younger brother follow Caroline Renwick out the double glass doors. She hurried through the herb garden, down the path that led to the river, and Sam was right behind her.

“Caroline!”

Moving fast, Caroline heard the man’s voice. She didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to face anyone. Ten minutes ago she had been looking for Joe Connor, but right now he was the last person she wanted to see. She didn’t want anyone trying to help her. Her eyes brimming, she started walking faster.

“Caroline,” she heard again.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to compose herself. She turned to look at him, forcing herself to stay calm, and was startled to find Sam bearing down on her instead of Joe.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she repeated. Being caught off guard by Sam undid her completely, and she welled up.

“You’re not fine. You’re a wreck,” he said.

“No, I’m—”

“You can’t stop her, you know,” he said.

“I could have refused to serve her,” Caroline said. “That’s what I should have done. Told my bartender to shut her off, not even give her that one glass…”

“She would have gotten it somewhere else. Who is she, your sister?”

Caroline nodded. She wiped her tears with the backs of her hands. With Skye in the hospital, she had begun to feel safe. Like maybe Skye would get some help, maybe there was hope. But then Simon had come back, she had walked out of the hospital, and now she was back to drinking.

“I know how it feels,” Sam said. “I watched my brother nearly kill himself for years.”

“Joe?”

“Yeah. I probably shouldn’t tell you, he used to have a drinking problem.”

“He told me himself.”

“He was so miserable,” Sam said. “He drank to feel better, but it only made everything worse. I didn’t see him that often, but sometimes…He’d be home for Christmas, or one time he took me to Maine, sailing for summer vacation…” Sam’s eyes clouded with the memory. “He was like Jekyll and Hyde. The best brother in the world one minute, a lunatic the next. That’s when he talked about you most. When he was drunk.”