An Unexpected Father Read online

  Mimi rose to her feet. “We’ll talk later.”

  Leaving the room, she closed the door behind her quietly. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, Claire met her there.

  “Well?”

  “I’ve been outwitted by a nine-year-old once again.”

  “Which means what?”

  “It’s my fault Jack is unhappy.”

  “I thought it was Ian’s.”

  “His, too. Ian gets the blame for leaving and I catch it for promising Jack that he would make permanent friends when we settled here.”

  Understanding dawned on Claire’s face. “Oh.”

  “He’s not open to other explanations right now,” Mimi said, rubbing a hand over her forehead. “I’ll try again later.”

  “Is there something I can do?”

  Before Mimi could think of anything, the doorbell rang. “Maybe that’s Ian.” She went to the door, opened it and gasped.

  There on the doorstep stood Johnny Sinclair. “Hey, beautiful. I was in the neighborhood. Can I come in?”

  Mimi scowled at him, thinking that, as usual, Johnny’s timing was either very bad or very good. At the moment, she was not sure which.

  IAN CONVINCED HIMSELF that he should wait. There was no rush to announce his decision. Jack needed time to cool down. Mimi needed time to talk to her son. Ian himself needed to think carefully, to be certain that he was doing what was right for all three of them. And Ian did his best thinking when his hands had something to occupy them.

  He tried puttering on Minerva: the decks could use a scrub, the rigging could be tuned, the end of the main halyard needed to be whipped, and a long list of other chores and tasks. Yet he already felt detached from his boat, as if working on her was now pointless. None of the sixty-two items on his to-do list needed to be done any time soon. They could wait.

  Even though it was Sunday, he decided the wood shop would offer something more soothing. He unlocked the door and turned on the fan to blow out the hot, stuffy air. None of the three jobs he had yet to complete appealed to him. He didn’t want to build a new hatch for a sailboat, a set of drawers for a trawler or a pin rail for an old schooner.

  Instead, he got out his best chisels from the tool drawer, lining all twenty of them out on the workbench. Then he oiled a whetstone. One at a time he began to sharpen the tips. He made a deal with himself. When all the chisels were sharpened—if he was still sure—he would go talk to Mimi and tell her that he had decided to stay.

  The job took just over two hours. The rubbing of steel on oiled stone was exactly the sort of mindful, yet mindless, project he needed to gather his scattered wits. As each tip became razor sharp, Ian’s focus sharpened, too. By the time he turned off the lights and the fans, he was certain he was doing the right thing.

  He stepped outside, locking the door to the shop behind him. The sun had disappeared and a breeze had picked up off the water. A large moon hung in the eastern sky. A perfect evening for a sail, he thought. But he had other business tonight. Hands in his pockets, Ian started down the street for the Laughing Gull.

  George greeted him when he stepped through the door of the Gull and asked about Mimi. “Haven’t seen her since this morning. She’s probably over at the house.”

  When Ian knocked on the front door, Claire Green answered.

  “Ian! What a surprise, come in.”

  “I hope I’m not intruding.” Ian took two steps inside and closed the door behind him.

  “No, not at all,” she said with a smile, but her eyes darted away toward the voices that came from the back of the house.

  Unexpectedly, Ian heard Jack’s familiar giggle followed by Mimi’s husky laugh. He was startled to hear them so happy. A kernel of uncertainty formed in the pit of Ian’s stomach. Then a third voice—a man’s laughter—rang out above the other two.

  His jaw tensed, but he forced a polite smile to his lips. “You have company.”

  The older woman frowned. “Well, yes, we do, but that—”

  “I’ll come back another time.”

  Before he could escape, Mimi appeared in the doorway to the left, her face flushed with laughter. “Ian? I thought that might be you.”

  “I came to check on Jack,” he said, keeping his voice even by sheer force of will. “But he sounds like he’s fine.”

  “He’s found a distraction anyway,” Mimi said.

  Claire looked between them, then backed away. “I’ll just leave you alone,” she murmured.

  “No. Don’t,” he told the older woman, his tone hard. “I’ve got to go.”

  His words didn’t stop Claire; she slipped past her daughter and out of the room. As she left, Ian kept his gaze on Mimi. Her smile faded and a puzzled look came into her eyes. Ian shook his head, unwilling to say another word. Not now. Putting his hand on the doorknob, he twisted it just as Mimi wrapped her fingers around his wrist.

  “Ian, wait. What are you so angry about?” Mimi asked, frowning.

  He stared at the door panel for a moment, then turned to her. “I was worried about Jack. And you. So I came over to talk to you both,” he said tightly. “Obviously, it was unnecessary.”

  Ian yanked at the door, but Mimi leaned against it, keeping him from leaving.

  “I’m sorry, Ian. I didn’t think,” she said softly. “We had an unexpected guest and I didn’t call you.”

  “Mimsy, come on,” a man’s voice called from another room. “Where’s your guitar? Jack wants to hear us sing another song.”

  A tall, lean form in a blue chambray shirt, jeans and boots appeared in the doorway where Claire had disappeared. At the same time, Ian felt Mimi’s hand tense, then she snatched it away from his arm. The stranger seemed familiar, but Ian couldn’t place where he had seen him before.

  “Fantastic,” the man said with a smile. “An audience.”

  “Tell Jack to get my guitar out of the closet,” Mimi said. “I’ll be there in a second.”

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” the man asked, cocking his head to one side. When Mimi hesitated, the man held out a hand to Ian. “Johnny Sinclair.”

  The name was instantly recognizable. In other circumstances, Ian might even be impressed to find a rock star in the Green house. As it was, a few more pieces fell into place, making the picture clearer, but no prettier.

  “Ian Berzani,” he said tersely as they shook hands.

  Mimi looked even more uncomfortable. “Go entertain Jack. I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said to Johnny.

  The other man didn’t move, standing and looking back and forth between them, speculation in his eyes. “Mimi and I were just reworking some old material,” he said with a slight smile. “It’s been too long since we’ve played together.”

  Ian stiffened and said nothing. A gauntlet had just been thrown, invisible, but palpable. Narrowly eyeing the man, Ian considered—and rejected—responding to it. He shot a glance at Mimi, but her eyes would not meet his. Then Jack ran into the room. The boy stopped short when he saw Ian.

  “Hey, runt,” Ian said. “How’s it going?”

  Jack stared at him, the light in his face slowly dying and a scowl replacing it. He said nothing, in fact seemed to choose at that moment to ignore Ian. Turning to Johnny, Jack grinned. “Want to come upstairs and see my posters? I got one of you and the band.” Taking Johnny’s hand, he tugged at him.

  With a laugh, Johnny followed. He looked back at Mimi. “Looks like I can’t refuse.”

  Ian looked from the boy to the man and registered the identical smiles, the same face shape. As he watched them run up the stairs together, he felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. They disappeared at the top, but the echo of their laughter rang down. It seemed as though they were laughing at him. He swallowed hard and turned to look at Mimi.

  “Jack’s father?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

  Mimi’s eyes widened and she shot a worried glance up the stairs. She nodded and bit her lip. Closing his ey
es, Ian absorbed the truth—for the second time today. His anger had faded under the force of astonishment. When he opened his eyes again, Mimi was watching him, a glint of fear in her gaze.

  “Please don’t say anything, I—”

  “No.” Ian shook his head, whether to answer her plea or to clear his fogged thoughts, he didn’t know. He saw some of the tension in her shoulders ease as he spoke. “I won’t. Why would I?”

  “He showed up after I got back. Jack was so upset and he loves Johnny’s music, so I just—I thought it would help.”

  “Of course.” He looked back up the stairs, then over at Mimi. “I didn’t realize you were in contact with Jack’s father.”

  “I haven’t been,” she said softly. “He came by the Gull the other day and—” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. “He asked to see Jack. To get to know him.”

  A visceral urge to protect rose inside Ian. “So, just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers, “you let him back in Jack’s life.”

  She darted a glance up the stairs, then stepped closer. “He is Jack’s father—”

  “Right. And he’s been missing for how long now? Nine years?” Ian asked, keeping his own voice low, his eyes locked on Mimi’s. “It’s been so long that Jack told me he doesn’t have a dad.”

  Her eyes widened. “He said that to you?”

  “Yeah. Once.”

  “He never talks about it to me.” Mimi rubbed her hands over her arms, as if chilled.

  “I didn’t have any idea what to say to him, how to answer his questions. Not that he had any then,” Ian said with a laugh that held no mirth. “Of course, now he has all his answers, here in the flesh.”

  “Look, I never want Jack to be hurt, Ian. Never. But Johnny is his father and if he wants to be part of Jack’s life…” She paused, biting her lip. “He needs a man in his life.”

  Ian jerked as if he had been slapped. “And that’s not going to be me.”

  “No. You’re leaving.” Tears flooded Mimi’s eyes and her voice cracked. “It wasn’t until I saw Jack with you that I realized how much he’s needed a father. I want him to have that, that…bond with another man. Someone who will take an interest in him, like you have. Be more than a friend to him,” she finished softly.

  “And who better than his own father,” Ian said flatly.

  Again, voices, one low and one high with excitement, drifted down the stairs, getting louder with each word.

  “We can’t talk about this here,” Mimi said, wiping the tears from her lashes.

  Staring into Mimi’s troubled eyes for a long moment, Ian took a deep breath. Jack’s sneakered feet sounded on the stairs, followed by a pair of leather boots. She was right. They couldn’t talk here. Really, they couldn’t talk anywhere. There was nothing to say.

  Everything had become clear in a minute. Johnny Sinclair was Jack’s real father and if he wanted a second chance to fill those shoes, Mimi would give it to him. Not because he deserved it, but because Jack deserved it. Stuffing all the words he wanted to say—all the protests he wanted to make—deep inside, Ian turned away and pulled open the door.

  Mimi followed him outside, as far as the front steps. “I tried to talk to Jack earlier, Ian, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s just as mad at me as he is at you.”

  “Leave the kid alone. He’s got work to do with his father,” Ian said. “If he wants to see me, he knows where to find me.”

  “But you’re his friend, too. And mine.”

  “I won’t be around much longer, Mimi. Better we just forget about it and move on.”

  Mimi bit her lip. She looked down, her arms still crossed tightly. Unable to stop himself, Ian reached up and brushed his fingers across her cheek. Her eyes rose and he could see tears shining in them again. He wished he could hold her, kiss her, but that would only prolong the pain of admitting it was over. Instead, Ian dropped his hand from her cheek, squared his shoulders and walked down the steps and across the sidewalk. As he did, he heard Jack’s joyful laughter peal from an open window.

  As the darkness swallowed him, Ian thought that he ought to be glad for the kid. Every boy deserved a father. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he took a gulp of night air. He ought to feel happy for himself, too. He could sail off on Minerva and pursue his dreams without worry or guilt. Nothing tied him to land anymore, nothing. Too bad those dreams tasted so bitter now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Someone knocked on Minerva’s hull. Ian ignored it. He had his head stuck in a starboard locker, counting cans of soup. He closed the lid of the bin and wrote 23 on the manifest, next to Soup Cans. The pounding sounded again, louder this time.

  “Ian! Are you in there?” Patrick’s shout was quickly followed by the thud of footsteps on the deck as he stepped on board. He came to the companionway and crouched down, looking inside the cabin. “You hiding from me?”

  “I’m busy.” Ian continued to check his list. “Go away.”

  Patrick ignored the order and climbed down the steps. “Jeez, looks like a bomb went off in here.”

  Piles of gear were heaped on the floor, the table, the settees and nav desk: charts, bosun’s chair, extra rope, a sea anchor, cans of food, bags of pasta and rice. Nearly every locker was open. Ian sifted through a heap of food in plastic bags on the table, then stuffed as many of the bags as would fit in a locker, counting as he went.

  Patrick, who could go no farther into the cabin than two feet, perched on the steps, his elbows on his knees. “Ma says you’re leaving.”

  “Our mother, she sure likes to start rumors.”

  “A bit ahead of schedule, aren’t you?”

  “Plans change.” Ian refused to look at his brother.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s still hurricane season.”

  Ian shrugged and opened another locker, stowing the bosun’s chair along the side and laying coils of rope next to it. The spare main halyard fit on top. “I thought I’d head up to Maine until the end of October. I’ll go direct to Bermuda from there.”

  “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with Mimi?” Patrick asked.

  “Who told you that? Ma?”

  “No one. I have eyes and I see a man who suddenly can’t stand to stick around.”

  “Congratulations. You’re not as dumb as you look.”

  Patrick sighed. “Come on, Ian. Talk to me.”

  “Fine. I’ll give you the long version—it’s over. End of story.”

  “Last I heard you were in love with her. What happened?”

  Closing his eyes, Ian took a deep breath, holding it until the pain in his heart eased. Dropping his tablet on top of the pile on the settee, he turned to his brother. Briefly, he related how Jack had fallen apart on Sunday while they were sailing.

  “Remember when you asked me what I wanted more, my dream or her?” Ian shook his head. “I was all set to sail away, you know? Just leave and forget them. After that mess on Sunday, I knew I couldn’t. I knew what was more important. And it wasn’t this boat or my plans.”

  “So, I don’t get it. Why are you leaving?”

  Ian fidgeted with his pen, clicking the tip in and out. “Jack’s father showed up.”

  “What?” Patrick’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I thought he was long gone.”

  “So did everyone else.” Ian tossed the pen down. “His timing is perfect, I’ll say that much for him. He shows up just when everything’s gone to hell. The hero riding to the rescue. I suppose he spared me from promising that I’d stay and making a fool of myself.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you’re leaving.”

  “Yeah, Patty, it does.” Ian slumped to a seat on a pile of rope. “He wants to be a fixture in Jack’s life, and Mimi’s going to let him. I can’t say she’s wrong. A kid needs his father.”

  “There are a lot of fathers and sons out there who don’t share the same blood.”

  “How would you feel if someone else wanted to replace you and take over fatherin
g Beth?” Ian asked, spearing him with a glance.

  “This is different,” Patrick said impatiently. “Jack’s nine and his father’s never been around. The bastard abandoned Mimi and his kid. He lost his chance.”

  “I agree. But doesn’t Jack deserve another chance with the guy if he wants it?”

  Patrick glared at him, then blew out a breath. “Do you ever think of yourself, Ian? Because it’s damn hard hanging around a saint sometimes.”

  Ian laughed a little, despite the wave of sadness that had swamped him. “What I want doesn’t matter right now. Jack needs—no, the kid deserves a father. If his real one wants the job, I won’t stand in the way. But to stay here and watch that happen…” He let the words trail off as he shook his head again. “It just hurts too much.”

  “Is it more painful than leaving?” Patrick asked urgently. “And what about Mimi?”

  “She was in love with Jack’s father once. If I disappear, those feelings might rekindle.”

  “And they might not.”

  Ian shrugged. “I’ve got to live my own life. I’m not going to stand on the sidelines and wait for a chance to get in the game.”

  Patrick looked as if he wanted to argue more, but he kept silent. Ian stood and picked up his tablet again. “So if you’ll pardon me, I’ve got to get the rest of this packed up.”

  “Need some help?”

  “I’ve seen you pack. No, thanks.”

  Standing, Patrick half turned to go up the stairs, then stopped. “Once, when I was running away from my problems, you told me that the ocean wasn’t going to give me any answers.” His eyes searched Ian’s. “I don’t think it’s going to help you, either.”

  With that warning, Patrick climbed the steps and left the boat. Ian stood in the middle of the cabin for a moment, then turned to the nearest pile of gear. True. Maybe the sea wouldn’t give him any answers. But maybe, out there alone, he could forget the questions.

  THE STEREO WAS PLAYING some slow, lugubrious ballad of lost love. Mimi couldn’t take another note. There was a lull in the patrons haunting the Gull this Thursday afternoon and she needed a song to distract her thoughts, something more cheerful to lift her spirits. She leaned against the cooler, drumming her fingers on the front of it, flipping through her CD choices. A little Kirsty MacColl ought to do it.