“Pain is inevitable.” Tommy’s voice turns gruff. “Every parent knows when they have kids, they’re setting themselves up for a lifetime of it. Reproducing is like cutting off chunks of your own heart and sending them out into the world, hoping like hell they don’t get too banged up, but knowing in your gut there’s no avoiding it. You can’t prevent the pain from happening. All you can do is be there when it does.”
There’s no missing the undercurrent of agony laced through his words. The story Deacon Hayward told me about Tommy’s family flashes through my head. I feel strangely guilty knowing the grim details of his personal tragedies. If he wanted me privy to that story, he would’ve told me himself. It’s like I’ve spied through a window into my intensely private boss’s soul without permission.
There’s no way in Hell I’m about to broach the topic of the fire, and all he lost in it. So I merely clear my throat and say, “I’m not planning on having kids anytime soon, Tommy.”
“That’s not what I meant as a takeaway.” He shakes his head. “My point was, your parents don’t need you to shield them from pain — no matter how you’d like to, no matter if you believe it’s somehow your responsibility to do so. They’re your parents. They’re the ones who are supposed to protect you, not the other way around. Don’t believe me? Call and ask them what they think. See how they react when they hear what your brother is up to, these days.”
I squint out at the harbor, trying to keep the small sailing class in my line of sight. They’re nearly out of the channel now — ten white dots on the horizon, skimming across the sun-dappled waves without a care in the world. I wish sometimes I could turn back the clocks to when I was ten years old, and my biggest worries were whether I’d be able to save up enough for a real pitching glove before tryouts. I’d do it all over, minus the mistakes.
“I hope he’s caught. I hope he pays for what he’s done. But turning in my own brother — no matter what he’s done to me — seems… I don’t know. Low. Base. I accused Jaxon of betraying his own blood… destroying our family… If I turn him in, how am I any different?”
“You’re not defined by his actions any more than he’s defined by yours. Every man is responsible for holding his own. From the sound of it, Jaxon made his bed a long time ago. Letting him lie in it doesn’t make you a bad person. It just means he’s getting his comeuppance.”
We lapse into silence for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts as we stare out at the water. After a long stretch, I glance over at him.
“There really should’ve been a sunset and a swelling musical score to accompany that motivational speech.”
“Wiseass.” His lips twitch. “Anyway. I didn’t drag you down here to give you advice.”
“Oh? Then why am I here, exactly?”
“Just wanted to see how you were.”
“Really?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. You’ll wound my delicate sensibilities.”
I snort. “Apologies.”
“Heard Dee Hayward offered you a position on his crew.”
“Guess word really does get around these docks.”
“You planning to take him up on his offer?”
“I don’t exactly have many other job opportunities knocking on my door. I was planning on heading over to talk to him this afternoon.”
“Before you do that…” His tone is casual. “I might have something better for you.”
My brows skyrocket. “What do you mean?”
“Easier to show you than explain.” He pushes to his feet, his arthritic limbs stiff. “Come on, kid.”
Tommy leads me down the docks, heading for the Ebenezer’s old slip. My curiosity mounts as we approach and I see, in place of the battered vessel, there’s an unfamiliar lobster boat bobbing gently against the tide. She looks fresh off the assembly line, with a coat of bright yellow paint — closer in shade to a cheery sunflower than the dull mustard of her predecessor — gleaming in the mid afternoon light and newly purchased lines holding all forty-plus feet of her in place. My eye catches on the metallic glint of a brand new electric pulley system hanging over her starboard side, designed to haul in traps at the push of a button. New aerator tanks line the stern, awaiting her first haul.
I whistle lowly as I take in the sight. “Wow.”
“Gorgeous, ain’t she?”
“Nicest boat in the harbor by a mile, Tommy. Not even Deacon Hayward’s rig can hold a candle to her.”
“Glad you think so.”
I glance over at him, bemused. “So all that talk about retirement was a bunch of crap, then?”
“Nah. She’s not for me.”
My brows arch. “Oh?”
“She’s yours.”
I start in shock. “Come again?”
“You heard me.” He jerks his chin toward the shiny yellow boat. “She’s all yours, kid. Courtesy of the fine folks at my insurance agency. Turns out, the Ebenezer made me more money by sinking than she ever did in high season.”
“But Tommy, that’s your money.”
“I have more money than I need already and no one left to spend it on. What am I going to do with a stack of bills? Wipe my ass with them?”
“Buy a house!”
“I have a house.”
“Pay off your mortgage!”
“Been paid off since 1992.”
“Then go on vacation!”
“I don’t want to pay money to relax in some strange place. You know what I want? I want to sit on my couch and watch my television. I’m tired.”
“Still. You can’t just give me a boat. That’s insane!”
“I can and I did and I won’t hear any argument on the matter. It’s done. I had the title papers drawn up with your name and everything. Already transferred my lobstering permit to you with the folks down at the Fish and Wildlife Department. Just need a notary to sign and you’re officially a commercial captain.” He looks at me, his expression the closest to giddy I’ve ever seen on that typically dour face. “Go on. Take a good look at her!”
Shaking my head, half-certain I’ve nodded off on that sun-drenched bench and am drifting in some vividly detailed daydream, I walk the length of the boat, bow to stern, taking in her details up close. I run a hand along the beam, marveling at the glossy fiberglass decking and flush-mounted cleats. She really is a thing of beauty. By the time I reach the rear section, there are practically tears in my eyes.
“Tommy, this is too much.” I shake my head. “I’ll never be able to—”
My words break off suddenly as I spot the name plastered across the stern in curvy, capital-lettered serif font. He’s christened the boat something so unexpected, I blink three times to make sure I’m reading it right. I reach up and rub them — hard — but the word does not waver from my vision.
JOSEPHINE
My eyes fly to Tommy’s. He’s standing a handful of feet away, hands in his pockets, looking rather proud of himself.
“Fine name for a boat, don’t you think?”