to me.” The Captain’s House was a responsibility, handed down to her by her family. It was the place where she’d grown up and the place she’d fallen in love. The house was large, but Tom had filled it with his personality and warmth. He’d cast light on dark corners and his laughter had blown away dust and cobwebs. Both their children had been born there. And it wasn’t only the house that held memories, it was the contents. Every room held pieces passed down through the family. Those pieces had meaning. Those pieces mattered. She was the custodian. A poor custodian, as it turned out.
Alice nudged her. “I’m looking forward to book group.”
Despite everything, Nancy smiled. “Why? You never read the book.”
“I know. I come for the cake and companionship. Two of the best things in life. You’re a good friend, Nancy Stewart, always have been.”
Nancy said nothing.
Alice sighed. “You were there for me when I lost my Adam and when my mama died. If I could solve this problem for you, I would and so would anyone in our little book group. Sometimes those women are so annoying I could strangle them with my bare hands, but I also know they’d drop everything to help if they knew about your troubles.”
Nancy felt a thickening in her throat. “I should get on. I have things to do. Thanks for coming round.”
“I didn’t come round. I squeezed through your fence, same way I did when I was four years old, but I’ll go if you want me to. You know where I am.”
Nancy stayed lost in thought long after Alice had squeezed her way back through the fence.
There were so many decisions to make. So many things to handle.
So many regrets.
She turned and looked back at her home.
The white clapboard house had been built in 1860 and had been in her family ever since.
She knew every shingle and every pane of glass.
This house had seen a lot, and so had she.
Her great-great-grandfather had been captain of a whaling vessel, a master mariner of vast experience who’d held ultimate command of the ship. By all accounts he’d been a difficult man. She knew there were those who thought she’d inherited that trait.
In her own way she was a captain, too, only her vessel was her family. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d driven the ship onto the rocks.
What was left? Tom was gone. Her two children no longer needed her and she’d stopped hoping that their relationship could be different. That didn’t stop her worrying about them.
She’d worried when Lauren had chosen to marry Ed and move to England instead of taking up her college place. It had seemed so out of character. But love did strange things to people. Nancy had often wondered if Lauren had been pregnant when she’d married Ed, but they seemed happy, so what did it matter?
Her younger daughter had caused her more anxiety. Jenna had bounced through life with an almost exhausting enthusiasm. Growing up, Jenna had dragged Lauren into all sorts of scrapes, but the two of them had somehow survived and Nancy suspected that was down to her eldest daughter, who had always watched over her sister.
She heard the sound of a car and then the crunch of footsteps.
With a last look at the sea, she walked back toward the house. Every step was an effort. She felt as if the house was watching her with accusing eyes. She smelled the sea, felt panic close over her head and wondered if this was how it felt to drown.
She stepped through the door and saw the place as a stranger might, battered and battle weary, revealing every scar and wound.
The rooms were crammed full of furniture, ornaments, books, old maps.
Nancy couldn’t bring herself to throw anything away.
Some of the windows were rotten, the paintwork in the entryway was chipped and there was a large empty space on the wall where she’d removed that damn seascape.
She’d told Jenna she’d taken it down so she could decorate. The truth was she loathed that painting. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she loathed what it represented. She would have burned it if it hadn’t been for the fact it might still have a purpose.
She opened the door and looked at the man standing there. She had to tilt her head and look up because he topped six feet and dominated her doorway.
She’d first spoken to him five years before on what could, without drama or exaggeration, be described as the worst night of her life. Those years had left their mark on her. Not, it seemed, on him.
She had no idea how old he was, but she would have guessed midthirties.
His eyes were a cool blue and shadowed by secrets. His mouth, well shaped and firm, rarely curved into a smile. His jaw was dark with stubble and the sweater he wore had probably been deep blue at some point but had faded to a washed gray hue.
Had she really expected him to show up in a suit and tie? No. He looked exactly the way she’d expected him to look. Why would he shave before knocking on her door? He wasn’t the type of man who was remotely interested in social conventions or the opinions of others. He lived life according to his own rules and that, as it turned out, was lucky for her because five years ago he’d helped her when no one else would.
She felt a pang of envy. What would her life look like now if she’d been more like him? If she’d been braver?
“Thank you for coming.”
It was ironic that he should be the one to help her out of her current situation.
She needed him, and yet at the same time she hated him for taking from her the one thing she had left in the world. And truthfully she had no idea how he would respond to what she was about to say. He was unpredictable, a man you could never be sure of.
She almost laughed aloud. Was there a man alive you could be sure of?
“Mrs. Stewart.” His voice was somewhere between the rough, sexy drawl of a whiskey drinker and the low growl of a jungle cat. It occurred to her that if that voice hadn’t been attached to a man she’d grown to trust, it might have left her feeling uneasy, as would those narrow watchful eyes.
“Thank you for coming. It was good of you.”
“I was surprised to get your call. I thought it might be a mistake.” His handshake was firm but that didn’t surprise her. It had been his physical strength, among other things, that had saved the both of them that night.
“No mistake.” The mistakes, she thought, had been made long before. “You’d better come in. There’s something I need to say to you.”
Lauren
Party: a social gathering, for pleasure, often held as a celebration
LAUREN
