“I wanted to show you a good time tonight so you’d know there’s more to Climax Cove than potlucks and bingo nights.”
I glance over to find his gaze on me. “What are you, the town’s official tour guide?” I ask and wave my hand in the air. “I'm good.”
Dane lets a heavy sigh escape. “My dad and his friends. They want you to stay, so, I was recruited to take you out tonight.”
The lightbulb goes off.
“Why?”
He turns down the music and eases off on the gas as we approach a curve.
“The town is struggling, and your dad's business brings in a lot of bigwig clients who bring their friends who like to spend money in Climax Cove.”
His tone is almost one of ‘duh, do you know nothing about your father's business?’ Truthfully, I don't. After I turned eighteen, I maybe came down for a weekend or two, but once he wasn't obligated to pay for me anymore and I wasn't obligated to come down, the visits were few and far between.
“Are you telling me that the town depends on my dad's restoration business?”
Sara moans in the back.
“So, help me Sara, if you puke in my car, you're buying me a new one,” Dane warns.
She moans again as though answering him.
He glances to the side at me. “Yeah.”
My hand rubs over my face, as the darkness looms overhead. It was one thing when I was deciding for myself, it's another to feel that the livelihood of an entire town rests on skills I've yet to truly perfect. Mediocre skills at best.
“Were you supposed to get me drunk and laid?” I glance into the back seat at Sara. Please tell me they weren't offering her up for the taking.
He laughs for the first time tonight. At least the first real laugh.
“That wasn't it. No.”
I nod and a second later my phone rings in my pocket. Digging it out, Gretchen's number flashes on the screen. I press ignore and shove it back into my pocket. A minute later, another ding rings through the car alerting me to a voicemail. She's probably drunk and looking for a booty call.
“What makes everyone think I can actually keep the business going like my dad did?”
He shakes his head. “Your dad told them you were good at it.”
What? That makes no sense. I haven't done anything with my dad in almost ten years as far as boats go.
“Maybe he was wrong.” I respond more because I can't believe the quiet man who was my dad, ever boasted about his son. The son he ignored most of his life.
“Believe me, George never minced words. Getting a compliment or an insult was hard. But he would go on and on about what you were doing up in Portland.”
Working in a marina, fixing boats as they came in. Yeah, really something for him to be proud of.
“Even if I do stay, there’s no promise his clients will stick with me.”
“Man, and I thought I was the one who shucked responsibility.” Dane shakes his head more to himself I think, but his comment still manages to creep under my skin.
“I'm not shucking my responsibility. I know nothing about running a business, let alone am I an expert on boat craftsmanship like my dad was.”
We pass the sign to Climax Cove, and my body relaxes knowing I can escape this car soon.
Dane shakes his head. “I think you're scared.”
“I think you should mind your own damn business.”
He nods. “Probably, but just like you, I know what it feels like to not disappoint anyone.”
“You get an extra pie at the fair if you get me to stay or what?” My voice is edgy, and I need to get out of this car before I say something I really regret because besides his being overly interested in my life, he seems like a decent guy.
He puts his turn signal on to head toward my dad's house.
“Take me to the shop,” I say.
We drive in silence, other than Dane lowly humming to himself and the odd moan from Sara in the back seat. By the time we reach the shop, the car and the town we just drove through feels like a straight jacket.
“Thanks for the night out.” I open the car door and climb out.
His car door opens behind me and when I turn to see what he wants, he's leaning over the top of his car, hands clasped together.
“Hey, I know the town is small and you're from Portland.” Once again, he looks like he’s tasting vinegar when he says the name of my hometown. “But it's pretty great here. If you stick around long enough, you’ll figure it out for yourself. There’s a lot of people I'd like to see not lose their house. No one wants Climax Cove to become some deserted town.”
I stare at him across the hood of his car. He's not at all like the guy I pegged him for six hours ago.
“Noted.” I nod and walk into my dad's shop.
The engine of Dane's car roars through the sleepy town and I sit in the desk chair, sliding it over to the boat my dad must have been working on when he passed.
My chest feels like an elephant is sitting on it every time I think of what Dane said about my dad’s clients bringing so much business to the town. I was seriously considering relocating to this town, but now that I know everyone else's livelihood would rest on my shoulders? No thanks.
Five
“You hoo!”
The rattling from the shop's front door jars me awake.
“Marcus, dear.” A woman's voice bounces off the walls and rings in my ears.
I fold myself into a sitting position, rubbing my eyes.
“Oh,” the woman says.
I peer up, seeing a haze of an image in front of me. I blink a few times and there stands Betty, back again with another dish covered in tinfoil.
“Did you sleep here?” she asks, walking past me, in the direction of the fridge.
“Um, yeah,” I say with a groggy voice. I wonder how she got in? Didn’t I lock the door last night?
The shop phone rings.
“Go ahead, I'll just organize this for you.” Betty waves her hand in the air. Her head is buried in the fridge while she's taking out some dishes and repositioning others.
“If you're going to stay here...” I can’t hear the rest of what she says from the incessant ringing of the phone.
Not in the mood to talk to whoever is on the other end of the line, I let it go.
Betty turns around with a bottle of pink chalky stomach medicine I remember my dad giving me when I had a stomach ache as a child.
“Go ahead, Marcus.” Her head nods in the direction of the phone. “It could be business.”
“It can go to voicemail.” I meet her in the small kitchenette area my dad had installed in the shop.
Back when he had more employees, they'd have lunch at the same table for four. I remember women coming by with crockpots and packed lunches for them.
I guess business hadn't been stellar for my father since most of those people have disappeared.
The phone clicks to the answering machine, and my dad's rough and unenthused voice sounds through the speakers announcing that they’ve reached Kent's Restoration, leave a message and he'll get back to them within a week.
The sound of his voice brings a twinge of pain with it, but I’m quickly distracted by the realization of what he said. A week? What the hell? And why does he still have a rotary phone and an answering machine?