The long beep of the machine sounds and then there’s a clearing of a throat through the speaker. “George, this is Bill Santora. I'll be coming into town tomorrow to discuss the plans for the charity gala. As we've discussed, we'll sail it back down here to San Francisco and auction the boat off. Call my office with any questions.”
Click, the line goes dead.
“Charity Gala?” I say more to myself, forgetting that Betty is in the room.
“Bill Santora has helped this town so much. You know how many people come up in the summer and say Bill Santora told them about it?” Betty places a dish in the microwave, pulls a glass out and starts pouring milk.
“Really?” I'm not looking for an answer. Bill Santora clearly doesn't know my dad died so how great of a guy could he be?
“I should have thought to tell your daddy's contacts.” Betty presses her lips together and goes about her business, as though the kitchen was made for her.
“I'll have to find out how many more jobs he's committed to. They'll have to find someone else, I suppose.” She glances quickly over in my direction but I ignore her less than subtle expression and walk over to the desk with the phone and answering machine on it. Surely, he had a calendar or something?
“Maybe you should take over?” she says with a hopeful lilt in her voice.
First Dane and now Betty. Soon I'll open the door and the whole goddamn town will be outside.
“I live in Portland.”
She turns around, the spoon in her hand, looking me over. “Things change.” She shrugs.
An exasperated flow of air releases from my lungs. If this is what small town life is all about, then I’m not game.
“Betty, I have a lot of work to do. Did you need something?” I sit in the desk chair.
“Come and eat.” She sets a plate on the table next to the glass of milk and gestures to it.
“I'm not really a breakfast kinda guy,” I remark, searching the desk drawers for anything that would hint to the fact that my father was somewhat organized enough to keep a written schedule.
“Nonsense, you have to start your day off right. Especially, when you're passing out on a fifty-year-old sofa.” She eyes me with look I’m familiar with seeing on my mom’s face.
Figuring she’s more likely to leave if I do as she wants, I stand. The chair slides across the worn floor breaking the silence.
“Thank you, Betty. I'm sure you have more important things to do than to dote on me.”
She slides the chair next to me out and sits down. “You remind me so much of your daddy.” There’s a small smile on her lips and her chin is perched on top of her hand.
Can we cut the daddy talk? I'm twenty-eight, not six.
“That's hard to believe,” I comment, picking up my fork and digging into the breakfast casserole that looks to be filled with eggs, bacon, ham and every other artery blocking kind of processed meat. I fork off a section and place it in my mouth. Of course, it's good.
“Why? You're quiet like your daddy. You're stubborn like your daddy. And you don't like others to depend on you.” She watches me eat, which has me eating slower than normal.
“Why don't you eat?” I say, eyeing the casserole dish that still has plenty.
“Oh, I already ate, and I'm meeting Violet over at Double D's for lunch.”
I smile and continue eating. Maybe if I finish the plate her and her advice column will leave.
“What was I saying?” she looks up to the ceiling. “Oh, yes, you know when your daddy first showed up here, he didn't think he belonged. He was about to go back up to Portland, but then—” Her words fade and I see the sorrow in her tears.
“What? Why didn't he come back to Portland?” I place my fork down because she's about to tell me why he chose not to come back to me. Why he was content on forfeiting his right to see his son grow.
“My dad died.” Her hand moves from her lap to the top of my hand not holding the fork. “See, when your daddy showed up here, Climax Cove was just another small town in a long line of fishing towns. There was nothing special about it. George started working for my dad's boat company hopping around and fixing things for fishermen coming through town. My dad loved to restore old boats, but it was a hobby, so hardly anyone knew. But he did show George his projects. One day, after a year or so of George and my dad working on an old boat, my dad died. He had a heart attack. I think your dad wanted to make something of himself before he went back up to Portland. I knew he was going back because he told me the night before my dad passed away that he had to return to you. He’d secured a job there and was going to tell my dad the next morning.” She inhales a deep breath. “I was going to go with him.”
All those dots come together like the constellations on a dark night. Betty was my dad's girlfriend.
She nods and tears fill in her eyes. This is why she's here, making me breakfast. She probably took care of him, too.
“After my dad died, George took out the boat he’d helped my dad restore. Some say it's a coincidence and others say fate, but that day, a rich guy from San Francisco sailed into the harbor with a boat that needed fixing. George repaired it, but the guy couldn't stop going on and on about the restored boat that was docked in the water. Tried to get George to sell it to him, but he refused. He offered George an absurd amount of money to restore an old boat he’d had his eye on further up the coast. George took it thinking he'd be able to have a good chunk of money for us when we went back to Portland. The thing is, we never made it there. That guy ended up being a pretty important guy in San Francisco and he's referred so many people to Kent Restoration that Climax Cove isn't just a small fishing village like the other towns around us. Rich folk now see us as a quaint and small friendly town you sail your boat to and stay a few days at the bed and breakfasts, get a muffin from the Break Box Bakery, shop for handmade items you can’t find anywhere else. It offers them a chance to get away from city life and relax in Climax Cove.”
Her hand squeezes mine and I sit there in my chair trying to sort through all the new information Betty’s supplied me with.
“Some say he saved this town.”
“I had no idea,” I say. Why didn’t my dad tell me any of this?
“Yeah, he never wanted you to know. The weeks you'd come for summer, everyone kind of left him alone so that he could be with you. Even I’d stay at my parent's or a friend's house to give you time together. I know it probably never seemed like it, Marcus, but you were very important to him.”
I don’t know what to say so I shrug. I'm not sure I can ever understand how a man could pick a town over his own flesh and blood, but it's honorable either way.
“Dane called me this morning. I know things didn't go all that well last night with him trying to show you what we have to offer.”
“He seems like an okay guy.”
She raises her eyebrows like she’s not so sure about that, but doesn’t comment on it. “I realize you have a life in Portland and that it’s a lot to ask. We just want you to think about staying for awhile…maybe we can find a replacement for you. This town depended on George. Probably more than they should have.” Her warm hand leaves mine and she stands from the chair, a small smile crossing her lips.