“Your house has a front porch?” Liddy lowered herself into the chair next to his.
“Sure. Rockers and porches go together like chocolate and peanut butter.” He rocked for a moment. “You’ve never been to our island, have you?”
“No, but I’d like to. I don’t know anyone who has been, so there’s always been this sort of mystique about it. Like those stories about pirates that used to go around.”
“Those stories were true,” he told her. “My three-times great-grandfather was a bona fide pirate. When he got tired chasing ships around the Caribbean and had stashed away a fortune, he sailed up north here and landed on the island, claimed it for his own. At the time, there was no house, so he built one. When he needed a wife, he went into Boston and found one, brought her back.”
“Sounds like something some little boy made up.”
“Nope. He wrote it all down in a journal. When he died, his wife put it in a metal box and left it in the top of a closet, where it stayed for probably a hundred years. My granddad was the one who found it.”
“Huh.” She smiled in the dark. “I guess that’s where you and Linc got your swagger.”
Tuck laughed.
“So the house you live in is the one he built?”
“There’s only one house on the island, and yes, he built it.”
“What was his name?”
“Nicholas Shelby. His wife was Marcy King before she married him. Her people were wealthy Bostonians, her father an investor. I always wondered if some of those ships old Nick robbed had been owned by her father.” He looked at Liddy from the corner of his eye. “Would have made for some tense family dinners.”
“Did her family know who he was?”
“Doubtful. I think he probably sold himself as a merchant of sorts. After all, he did own a ship.”
“I wonder what she thought of him, assuming she ever learned the truth.”
“If she didn’t know while he was alive, she sure knew after he died. That journal of his was pretty explicit.”
“You read it?”
He nodded. “I did. Some of the ink has faded, but enough of it is still legible that there’s no doubt what he was. He must have been good at pirating, though. He never worked at anything for the rest of his life, and he and Marcy had nine kids. I don’t know what happened to all of them—a few are buried on the island—but I do know there were a few doctors and lawyers in the bunch. The girls made good marriages, so he must have tucked away a whole bunch of plundered goods. When we were little and we’d act up, my father would tell us to grab a shovel and see if we could find the buried treasure. Kept my sister and me busy many an afternoon.”
“Are he and Marcy buried there as well?”
“She is. He was buried at sea, as was his wish.” He lowered his feet from the rail. “Almost all the Shelby men who lived on the island have been buried at sea. My great-granddad, my grandfather, I know for sure. Others before them, I have to assume. I had a brother who died when he was three. He’s there in the graveyard with Marcy, but my dad will probably join the others in the water, sooner than later.”
“And you?”
“I hate to break with tradition,” was all he said.
“How is your dad?”
“Not well. He has late-stage dementia, so we know he won’t be with us much longer.” He rocked for a moment, then said, “I read something once that, after you die, any sickness you had while you were on earth is gone. You’re restored to the way you were when you were young and healthy, and you are reunited with the people you loved here on earth. I don’t know if that’s true, but it would be nice if my dad met up with my mother, and remembered her.”
“Dementia is a terrible thing.” Liddy thought of Fred, suffering from Alzheimer’s, his son trying so hard to keep him safe. “Who takes care of him when you and Linc are both working?”
“There’s a nurse who stays with us through the week, and another on the weekend. It’s not easy convincing someone who’s lived their entire life on the mainland to make that crossing every day, especially when the weather acts up. We couldn’t keep my dad at home without them. He requires a lot of care, and neither Linc nor I is trained to do everything he needs.”
“I’m sorry. It has to be hard on you, but it’s really sad for him.”
“The only positive thing about his condition is that he doesn’t remember my mother. He doesn’t remember how lonely and heartbroken he was all those years he lived without her.” Tuck cleared his throat. “Can we go inside?”
“Sure. Come on.”
She unlocked the door, and they went inside. As they walked toward the kitchen, she noticed a paper bag in his hand.
“What’s in the bag?” she asked.
“Something I’ve been saving for a special occasion.” Once in the kitchen, he set the bag on the table.
“Is this a special occasion?” She turned on the overhead light.
He took her in his arms and kissed her. The long, deep kiss had been totally unexpected, but was met with much enthusiasm. Tuck was solid and strong, and Liddy enjoyed every second of that first lip-lock.
And there, she thought. There it is. That zing . . .
He stepped back, his hands on her shoulders, and looked into her eyes as if searching for something. Liddy thought he must have found it, because he smiled.
“That made this a special occasion.” He released her, opened the bag, and took out a bottle. He set it on the table. “Glasses?”
Liddy pointed to a cabinet and picked up the bottle. She read the label, then turned to him in shock. “Pappy Van Winkle bourbon? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“But I read it’s impossible to find.”
“Damn near is. And insanely expensive if you do.”
“Then how . . . ?”
“I have a friend who owns a liquor store in Connecticut. He called me a while back and asked me if I wanted to buy a bottle at the retail price. He had five bottles, and he was saving three for his daughter’s wedding, so I bought the other two.”
“Wow. He must be some friend.”
“We go back,” Tuck said simply.
“We have a book in the shop about the man who started the company. And I read a magazine article about this stuff.”
“Please don’t call the best bourbon in the country ‘stuff.’”
“Oh. Sorry. All I know is that a bottle can sell for thousands of dollars. I don’t think I’ve ever had bourbon, so I wouldn’t know the difference between it and a bottle off the shelf.”
“After tonight, you’ll never be able to say that again.” He handed her a glass containing a small amount of the richly colored liquid. He lifted his own and made a toast. “To fine friends and fine bourbon.”
She was about to refuse the glass, but he seemed so happy to share his good luck at having scored a bottle of the precious liquor, and he’d said he’d brought it to mark a special occasion. Their first kiss had been a wowzer—and first meant there’d be more to follow, right? She’d definitely drink to that. Liddy raised the glass to her lips and took a sip. “Oh. This is . . . different.”