The Man She Left Behind (6 page)

Read The Man She Left Behind Online

Authors: Janice Carter

BOOK: The Man She Left Behind
13.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“I guess that must’ve been hard on your father, too.”
“I doubt it. He sent me those things out of guilt, not love.”
Leigh glanced at him this time and saw his red face and darkened eyes. She decided to back off. Adding the last bit of onion to the salad, she took the cutting board to the sink to rinse it. Now Jamie was examining a collection of island photographs mounted on the kitchen wall.
“My father collected those,” Leigh murmured. “Took most of them, too.”
“Yeah? They’re kinda cool.”
“He always dreamed of putting them together in a book. Like one of those big coffee-table books.” Jamie gave her a blank stare. “Anyway,” she went on, “he never got around to it.”
“How come?”
“I’m not sure. I’m also ashamed to say I never asked. Maybe he was too busy bringing in the bacon, as he used to say. Fishing is a hard life. I doubt he had much time for recreational pursuits.”
“Was he always a fisherman? Like Grandpa Sam?”
Leigh nodded. “Until he couldn’t take the life anymore. Then he and my mother ran this house as a bed-and-breakfast.”
“This
house?”
Leigh couldn’t help but smile again. The old place was a bit run-down. “At that time,” she explained, “the Outer Banks wasn’t as developed as it is now. People didn’t have the choices they do now about where to stay.”
“Huh,” the boy said, then blurted, “When I’m grown-up I’m gonna do just what I want to. I’m not gonna settle for second best.”
How did we get on to this?
Leigh wondered. She turned away from the sink to take down plates from the adjacent cupboard and tried to think of an appropriate response. Then she said quietly, “I think that’s commendable. People should follow their dreams.”
Jamie stared at her thoughtfully. When she held out the plates, with cutlery and folded napkins on top, he took them without a word and headed for the back door. There, he craned his head around and muttered, “All the adults I know gave up on theirs. Mom and Dad. Even Grandpa Sam.”
Leigh watched him hold open the screen door with his foot and sidle through onto the deck. She leaned her forehead against the cupboard door and prayed the evening would pass quickly.
CHAPTER FOUR
B
UT THE EVENING surprised Leigh in another way.
They’d tucked into their linguini-in-white-clam-sauce with silent purpose. Other than polite requests to pass salad or Parmesan, there’d been little conversation.
Finally, after scraping up the last bit of sauce on his plate with a crust of bread, Sam leaned back in his chair and grunted, “Never eaten clams with noodles before, but I gotta admit, they go together like fries and flounder.”
Leigh caught Jamie’s eye and he startled her with a wink and a grin.
“’Course,” Sam went on, “I hate to see good wine cooked .up like that. Belongs in a glass and, yes—” he raised his empty wineglass to Leigh “—I will have another, thank you very much.”
“Grandpa!” Jamie admonished.
Leigh got up, laughing. “Never mind, Jamie,” she said, giving him a light pat on the shoulder as she walked toward the kitchen for another bottle. “I’ve known Grandpa Sam a lot longer than you have. You could say I’m used to his ways. If he feels up for another, he can have it.”
“What ways? What.’s this all about? Are ya ganging up on me here?”
Leigh gazed fondly at the wide gap-toothed smile on Sam’s face. “Darn right,” she said. “Someone has to keep you in line.” Then she pulled open the screen door and popped into the kitchen, emerging seconds later with a chilled bottle of white wine.
“Should you really have another one, Grandpa?”
Leigh and Sam turned as one to Jamie, whose face was now serious.
“This is a fine how-d’ya-do when a young whippersnapper of fourteen takes to giving advice,” Sam protested, casting Leigh an expression both proud and amused.
“You’re always giving
other
people advice,” Jamie said. “Maybe you should follow some yourself.”
Leigh didn’t dare risk a glance at Sam now. This was dangerous ground Jamie was treading on. But Sam surprised her again.
He pushed his wineglass aside and sighed loudly. “You’re absolutely right, Jamie. I’ve had enough. Can’t get across those dunes when I’m under the influence, can I? Might end up in another kind of drink and it’d be a tad too salty for me.” He cackled boisterously at his joke.
Leigh put the unopened bottle on the table and sat down. “I’ve had enough myself,” she said. “Besides, I have to get up early in the morning to start working on this place. I’m having an open house in a few days.”
Sam sobered instantly. “Ah, my girl, I hate to see this place go the way so many have on this island. Soon there’ll be no originals left. They’ll all be
summer
people.” He spat the word out as if it had a nasty taste.
“What’s so bad about summer people?” Jamie asked. “At least they’d be different.”
“Different? Aye, they’re different all right, boy. And I’m not sayin’ that’s a bad thing. But when you’re only here for two months a year—or even a few weeks—you don’t appreciate it the way the locals do. You haven’t gone through the hard times together. The storms, the ferry breakin’ down an’ strandin’ you here for days at a time. Water runnin’ out and havin’ to borrow food or other things from people. There’s no bond with the summer folks. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
Leigh nodded agreement. “I remember the power going off one winter for days. We had to collect all the firewood we could find—and there’s not a lot of that on the island. I remember breaking through a layer of ice in the rain cistern, ’cause the desalinization plant’s generator wasn’t working for a while, either.”
Jamie looked from one to the other. “You both sound like...” he hesitated.
“Old-timers?” Leigh suggested.
The boy had the grace to flush. “Not exactly that. I don’t know—like pioneers or somethin’.”
Leigh grinned. “I think times were a lot rougher when Sam was growing up here, weren’t they, Sam?”
The old man nodded vigorously. “Dam right. Water was always the big problem. Sometimes it had to be trucked in—that was before the plant was built.” He gazed off into the backyard. “Leigh’s mother used to have quite a garden out there, but she worked hard at it. Fought those weeds and marram grass every day. Used water over and over again—from the cistern, the dishes, even the laundry. Huh!” he snorted. “Talk about recycling. People these days act like they invented it. We were a darn sight better at it than anyone today. We reused everythin’.”
His lecture finished, Sam leaned back in his chair. He looked tired, Leigh thought. “Sam, would you like some coffee?”
He shook his head. “No thanks. Can’t drink the stuff anymore. Bothers my stomach. Comes with old age, I guess. You have to give up all the things you loved so much in your youth.” He gazed fondly at Jamie. “Remember that, my boy. Enjoy the young years—but not too much.”
Leigh’s eyes met Jamie’s and they laughed together. “Yeah, right,” Jamie muttered. “Here comes the advice again.”
Leigh straightened in her chair. The boy certainly had a disconcerting habit of saying whatever came into his mind. She glanced at Sam, waiting for a sharp retort. But the old man continued to smile affectionately at his grandson. Leigh realized with some surprise that he actually liked the ribbing. He’d changed, she thought. The Sam Logan who’d raised Jen was a lot tougher than this Sam Logan.
“Have you taken Jamie out to Teach’s Hole yet, Sam? Shown him where Blackbeard lost his life?”
“Blackbeard? You mean that pirate? Was he real?”
Sam frowned. “Sure was. He and his gang hung out around the Outer Banks when they weren’t busy terrorizing the British merchant fleet. Finally met his end right here on Ocracoke Island.”
Jamie leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I always thought that was just movie stuff, all those stories about Blackbeard.”
“Not all,” Sam declared. “The man’s real name was Edward Teach, an’ there’s a spot out past Silver Lake Harbor we call Teach’s Hole Channel. That’s where Lieutenant Robert Maynard of the British Royal Navy killed him. Musta been some fight. Them pirates and the Royal Navy.” He shook his head. “I’d’ve liked to see that.”
“Is he buried here on the island?”
“Somewhere.” Sam leaned closer to the table and lowered his voice to a whisper. “But not in any graveyard, I’ll tell you that. Some say his head is in one place and the rest of him in t’other, so even his ghost won’t be able to come back and haunt us.”
“Yeah, right,” Jamie said skeptically, but his eyes were round.
Getting into the spirit of storytelling, Leigh folded her arms on the table and said, “I remember my father talking about the time those British servicemen were drowned off the tip of the island. During the Second World War.”
“Yep. The church bell was ringin’ that night. What a tragedy! All those fine young men—no more’n teenagers. The village was so taken with the whole event, they even set aside a special graveyard for the men.”
Jamie’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what that little graveyard is off the harbor? I was wondering about that place.”
“You’ve got a lot to learn about your background, young fellow. Your heritage is a damn fine one.”
He so seldom swore Leigh turned to look at the old man. His eyes were glistening. After a moment’s silence he said to Leigh, “Well, we’d best be off, my dear. These old bones can’t take late hours anymore.”
They pushed back their chairs and wandered around the side of the house to the front. The sun had disappeared below the horizon, but there was still plenty of afterglow. Jamie peered at his watch.
“It’s not even nine yet. In Charlotte I wouldn’t be in bed until after eleven.”
“Ah,” Sam teased, “but this here is Ocracoke and we’re up with the sun. You an’ me are fixin’ that hole in the dinghy tomorrow. Then I plan to take you out on the Sound for some mullet. About time you learned how to net mullet.”
Jamie rolled his eyes, but flashed Leigh a grin. She smiled back and raised her shoulders in mock helplessness.
“He’s right, Jamie. I plan to be up early myself and to, oh, weed the garden and maybe get a coat of paint on the trim.”
Sam held up a finger. “Don’t you be climbing any ladders. I’ll have the boy come over—or maybe Spencer, when he gets back.”
“Sam! I’m only kidding. I’ve been a city girl for too many years. I’ll probably sleep till noon.”
They smiled at that—humoring her, she realized. When they’d disappeared from sight across the road and down the slope to the beach, Leigh walked up to the front veranda to watch the remnants of sunset. The evening had turned out much better than she’d anticipated. In spite of Sam’s old-fashioned ideas, his love for Jamie had been obvious. Especially in his tolerance of the almost insolent remarks Jamie often made.
And Leigh had been pleased to see now and then a glimmer of real affection in the boy’s eyes for his grandfather. Whatever Jamie’s problems had been—or still were—there appeared to be potential for improvement. At least Leigh hoped so for Spencer’s sake.
Later, after she’d showered and crawled into bed, her mind returned to Jamie’s remarks about his childhood. The picture of his early years wasn’t the one she and Jen had imagined when they’d fantasized about their futures. Long before Spencer McKay had taken Leigh into his arms at the Sadie Hawkins dance. Long before Jen Logan had fallen in love with him, too.
Leigh rolled onto her side, punched her pillow into a ball and wished herself to sleep. But her eyes fluttered against sleep like moths against the screen.
 
“DID I WAKE YOU?”
“Hmm?” Clutching the cell phone, Leigh ran her tongue across her dry lips and rubbed her eyes.
“I did. Oh, dear, but it’s going on nine-thirty. I hated to let the phone ring so many times, but I was beginning to think I had the wrong number and almost hung up. Sorry about that.” A pause. “Oh, it’s Trish calling.” A brief giggle.
“I, uh, couldn’t find the phone,” Leigh explained, which elicited a peal of laughter.
“Heavens, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to even turn one of those things on. Anyway, sorry to bother you so early, but it’s my day off and I wondered if you’d like to meet for lunch. That is, if you’re not busy?”
“Oh, sure, thank you.” Then, embarrassed about her lack of enthusiasm, Leigh added, “’Course I don’t have my engagement book handy.”
There was a fraction of a hesitation before Trish said, “Oh, well, do you want to go look?”
Leigh smiled. “I’m kidding, Trish.”
Another guffaw. “You always were a joker, Leigh, even as a little girl. Faye used to tell me about some of the practical jokes you played on her.”
“She did? Gee, I don’t remember any myself.” Leigh frowned. “But that was a long time ago. Where shall we meet?”
“Meet? Oh! For lunch. Well, there’s a new plaice—a kind of bakery-deli—or there’s always Howard’s,” she said, mentioning one of the island’s oldest restaurants.
Leigh closed her eyes. The bakery-deli was probably the place where she and Spence had gone yesterday morning. “Howard’s would be nice.”
“Great! Twelve-thirty okay?”
“Fine. See you then.” Leigh put the phone down on the coffee table and bent over to retrieve the sofa cushions she’d hurled to the floor in her search for the phone. Drained by the energy of Trish’s call and her lack of sleep, she slumped onto the sofa, where she’d crashed just before dawn.
Maybe the idea of an engagement book isn’t so silly, even for Ocracoke. Two days here and what have I accomplished, other than some cleaning and listing the house for sate?
The agent had suggested a few practical improvements to make before the first open house on Saturday.
Leigh took a deep breath and got to her feet with a determined leap. She’d spend the morning sorting out the things she wanted to keep from what could be thrown away. Her bedroom closet was full of boxes of high-school and college memorabilia. There were more boxes in the attic and perhaps in the other bedrooms. The task would take more than a morning, she knew.
But if I’m really lucky, I won’t have to spend the whole two weeks here, after all.
By midmorning Leigh had cleaned out her bedroom closet and started on the attic. The only troubling moment had come when she lifted the lid on a shoe box of photographs, many from early childhood. Leigh, squinting into the sun, her dark hair knotted into two stubby ponytails at each side of her face, with the solemn expression she wore in almost every photo she appeared. She remembered her mother urging her to smile and her father’s patience. Poor Dad, she thought. How difficult it must have been for a photographer to have a child who hated having her picture taken.
Then she found several of her and Jen. Jen, who’d never needed encouragement to mug for the camera. Blond hair blazing in the sunlight, Jen pranced and posed in every position a kid could think of—on her hands, midcartwheel, making donkey ears behind Leigh. Later, in the midst of adolescence, there was a demure coyness in the photographs, as if Jen had begun to practice her seduction skills on the camera first.
Before she got around to Spencer.

Other books

The Sea of Aaron by Kymberly Hunt
The Deepest Red by Miriam Bell
Pigs Get Fat (Trace 4) by Warren Murphy
The House With the Green Shutters by George Douglas Brown
Marked by Snyder, Jennifer
Dangerous Legacy by Valerie Hansen
The Nutmeg of Consolation by Patrick O'Brian