All That You Are (16 page)

“Collecting rocks.”

“Terran!” she called.

Squatting over a rock pile, Terran gave her an enthusiastic wave. “Hi.”

“Aw, he's so adorable.” Then she addressed Mark. “Did you find the detergent?”

“I did.”

“You were going the wrong way, silly.” The flirtatious note to Tori's voice bristled Dana's composure. “You were heading toward the produce when you needed to go the opposite direction.”

“I would have figured it out,” Mark said.

“I'm sure. You're a smart man.” Tori flicked her hair over her perfect, narrow shoulder. “Well, I'll see ya.”

Tori went inside the Burger Queen and Dana slid the rest of her uneaten lunch aside. She'd lost her appetite.

You're a smart man.
Dana might just puke.

Giving Mark a hard stare, she'd assumed he was better than one of the panting idiots following Tori in the grocery store. “You needed laundry soap by the fish-stick aisle?” Dana snapped.

“I hate fish sticks,” he grunted.

“Doesn't stop a man from heading that way, now does it?”

Puzzlement lit in Mark's rich brown eyes. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Grabbing the food wrappers and balling them into her fist, she stuffed the garbage in the sacks. She abruptly rose to her feet, then dumped the bags into the trash can. Fitting her elbow through her purse strap, she called too loudly, “Terran, we're leaving now.”

Terran came scampering over with a big smile, his shoelace untied, fisting rocks and indiscernible junk.

Mark stood and gave Dana a strong stare. “I don't
know what you think happened, but nothing happened.” With an exaggerated motion, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Not that I even have to tell you anything.”

Dana fumbled for her car keys. “Thanks for the lunch. That was nice of you.”

“I wasn't doing it to be nice,” he said, following her to her car. Terran skipped ahead, unaware of the discord behind him.

“Of course not.” She unlocked her truck and situated Terran in his booster seat so fast he hollered
ouch!
as she snapped the buckle closed. She gave quick kisses to his fingers and told him she loved him, then closed the door and walked to the truck's other side.

Mark gently caught her arm and made her stop. Though the cars zoomed past loudly, her erratic pulse beat in her head even louder, a rhythmic cadence that was near-deafening. She sighed to slow it down, and looked Mark directly in the eyes.

He'd removed his sunglasses and the depth of his brown eyes was placating, soft. “I don't know why you're thinking I'm into that chick, but I'm not.”

“You'd have to know how Tori operates.”

“I already know how she operates. I used to date anything in a short skirt.”

“Yes, that's right. Well—you have a good rest of your day. I believe I said that earlier. I should have stuck with it.”

“Dana, you're wrong about me.”

“I don't think so.”

The words were barbed, and she grew guilty when she saw a streak of hurt flicker in his expression. He quickly wiped it away, and his handsome features sharpened.
Remorse settled into her chest along with anger over her lack of tact. She was at fault for reacting in such a way, but she didn't have the grace to admit it to him.

“You're running scared, Dana.” With an ease of motion, Mark fit his sunglasses over the bridge of his nose.

He was so good-looking with the way his black hair brushed his ears and shirt collar. His mouth's firm set said more than words.

Finally he spoke in a low tone. “I get it. You've been hurt.” In a soft and low voice, his words carried in a strong whisper. “But you want to know something—a person never knows the meaning of love unless someone's broken their heart.”

S
WEATY AND TIRED,
Mark sat backward on a chair at the Blue Note, drinking a bottled water. He and a three-man crew were taking a lunch break from installing the sprinkler system. They'd added smoke detectors, as well.

“You've got at least ten psi flowing through this, right?” Mark questioned while studying the open wood beam rafters above. The outdated network of sprinkler pipes and heads had been removed and the new equipment was being installed after lunch.

Anything less than ten pounds per square inch would render a system inadequate because of deterioration in the water supply. Installation standards only contained minimums and Mark wanted to overkill on this job. Property insurance carriers often had more conservative standards than typical codes and local jurisdictions, so Mark wanted to make sure that after he was gone and Dana got her inspection, she wouldn't be written up for any noncompliance issues again.

“Absolutely can handle that,” one of the workers pronounced.

Mark nodded, eating a grilled halibut sandwich on a French roll that Presley had fixed for the four of them. She'd come in early today to get things started in the
kitchen. As always, she'd had a friendly smile for him and came across as genuine.

Glancing at his watch, Mark noted it was just after eleven o'clock. He hoped to get the new pipes in before two when the bar opened for business. Since the brackets were already in place, the possibility was good they'd get it handled.

Overall, he was happy with how things were progressing. The exit door had been cut out and installed, but was unusable until the exterior steel sections arrived by barge and the decking could be expanded. A skim coat was needed on the hallway to finish the drywall. Then it'd have to be painted. Mark hadn't seen the requirement for widening the exit door hallway in Dana's report and it chapped his hide. How would Dana have known that a twenty-four-inch opening needed to be three feet wide on an exit?

Inspectors weren't Mark's favorite people. He knew they had a job to do, but he'd been red-tagged too many times in situations that needed attention yesterday. Some inspectors tagged for minutiae, and their fixation on a detail that was really nothing was annoying.

One of the last things Mark hoped to repair before he left town was the building's siding. Although not noted as a violation, the gray boards needed to be replaced or covered.

Time was short. Both in Alaska and toward making a decision to stay with Moretti or not. Kyle had called yesterday and wanted to go over some ideas on restructuring. Mark didn't mind the consult, and it had actually felt good to discuss something familiar. He knew the family business inside and out, and Kyle's projections on future projects and the way he saw Moretti Construction going
weren't far off the mark. It made sense to get into management. But Mark still had no idea if he wanted to follow his family down that road.

Working on the Blue Note had reminded him why he'd stuck with carpentry all these years. He enjoyed working with his hands, he enjoyed building things. The end result was satisfying and he could look at all he'd done and know it would be around for a while.

He'd never minded shooting the bull with guys who strapped on tools all day and did the grunt work. He'd always liked sitting on a drywall stack, eating out of a lunch pail and talking about what needed to be done.

Maybe somewhere down the road he'd lost his focus about this. He'd tried too hard to pull up in the ranks and be a Giovanni figure to the crew. In hindsight, Mark never would be his dad, nor should he have tried. He was his own man, with his own honed skills and weaknesses. Valuing his own abilities and talents should have been his priority. But he hadn't. He'd doubted. He'd wanted more. And, in the end, he'd cheated his family by not showing gratitude for what he'd been given: the opportunity to master a family trade.

Mark drank a soda pop.

“How dis afternoon be for you, Boise carpenter?” Cardelle's voice sliced through the room. “I'm stopping by to give you a holler, mon. See weh you are in dis place of changes.”

Cardelle Kanhai strolled toward them, long-sleeved dress shirt and tie outfitting his thin-as-a-feather frame. His bald head gleamed as if it had been oiled after being freshly shaven. The color of his skin was like dark-roasted coffee beans, his teeth white and bright.

Mark had grown fond of the guy. They'd spent time together at the bar over drinks and had discussed a variety of topics. Neither of them lived in Ketchikan permanently and that kind of set things up between them.

Standing, Mark shook Cardelle's hand when he reached them. “Making some headway.”

With a wide arc of his berry-black gaze, Cardelle nodded. “You be jammin' in no time, mon.”

“Not so sure about how fast I'll get her done, but we're trying.” Mark acknowledged the three-man crew with him and gave each a quick introduction to Cardelle.

Cardelle adjusted his salmon-print tie, his expression solemn. “My fadda, he be a great wall painter in Jamaica. I don' know how you say it right. But maybe—wall pik' tures.”

“Pictures? You mean murals?”

“Yah, mon. Dat is it. He show me how to do it, too. I paint on walls, as well.”

Up to this point, Mark hadn't thought about painting anything except the hallway expansion after it had been taped and textured. Dana had paint cans in the workroom to match the bar's current color. The rest of the walls were in good shape.

“You a pretty good artist, Card?” Mark asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“I be fairly good. In fact, I'm one of de best.”

“Then no offense—how come you're selling bling? Why not paint murals for a living?”

“How do you not know I do dis in my home country?”

“I guess I don't.”

Cardelle flashed him a smile. “I jus' be funning wid you, mon. Deh is not so much use for murals in my town,
but more use here for de jew'ry to sell. America's people—dey buy anything if you tell dem it is de best.”

Smiling, Mark asked, “What's your top seller?”

“No doubt, de tanzanite. All ladies want it. And at my store I work at, we don' samfy you, mon.”

“Samfy?”

“Dat is de word for ‘con.' You can't trust all de jew'ry stores in dis town, but you can trust Cardelle.” His full lips split into a broad grin. “I still give a discount for you.”

Smiling back, Mark relented. “Maybe I'll get something for my mom.”

“Ah, for de madda, you buy pearls.” Card scratched the back of his smooth neck, taking one more look around. “Well, I best be going to work.”

“See you, Card.”

“Yah, mon. See you.”

Mark finished his lunch, returned the plate to Presley and thanked her again for making him a sandwich. She gave him a happy face and claimed if she didn't have a boyfriend, he'd have to look out.

Back in the bar, Mark was buckling his tool belt on when Leo came toward him. “Hey, Moretti, I wasn't kidding about the men's john. That urinal sucks. The women's latrine could use some help, too. Sink is plugged.”

“It's not a priority for me right now. But it's on my list. They need to be handicap accessible and I'll take a look at it when I can.”

“You going to have all these pipes off the floor when we open?” Leo questioned, markedly glancing at the mess.

“That's the plan.” Mark began to move materials into place as one of the workers climbed a ladder.

Leo turned, paused, then faced him once more. His dark hair, tightly curled, rested on his shoulders. The bridge of his brown nose was flat, his mouth wide. “Thanks for doing this for Dana. She does appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Mark then immersed himself in getting those sprinklers in.

Some time later, Dana came to the bar but headed straight for her office. Within a few minutes after her arrival, her mom arrived.

Suni Jackson wasn't a woman to screw around with. Mark got the feeling she was direct, had an opinion that she wouldn't hesitate to share, but she was fair, and if she held you in her regard, it would be high. She had a spiritual nature about her, as if her beliefs were celestial and she burned incense or something.

She was short in stature, but tall from the way her gaze could measure a person. That look she gave a guy could freeze steel if he didn't live up to the standards she'd sought for her daughter. Mark was cool with that. Moms liked to give their opinions, but being the one Suni put under a magnifier didn't sit well with Mark. He'd done all he could to be cordial at the parade, and he'd figured she'd think what she wanted to about him no matter what he did.

So when he found her standing there staring at him, he gave her a friendly hello but didn't initiate a conversation. He kept working from the ladder. Eventually, she moved forward and disappeared into Dana's office.

With ten minutes to spare before the Blue Note's opening, the sprinklers had been put in, as well as the
smoke detectors. Packing away his tools, Mark had been bent on one knee depositing things into a toolbox when Suni appeared.

“Since Oscar died, I haven't been in the bar very much,” she said wistfully as she gazed down at him. “There's a continuous pulse of movement in here. Life has gone on without my husband. He lives within these walls, but I can't see him.”

Mark rose to his feet. “Have you heard your daughter play the sax?”

“Many times.” Suni held her purse as if she needed to use it as a shield against the memories that must haunt her in the Blue Note. “She sounds like Oscar, though she doesn't think she does.”

“I'd agree with you.” Mark studied Suni's face, searching for emotions he could read. She hid them well. “After my father died, it was hard for me to go in his work trailer, especially when I sat at his desk. But he'd want me to move forward, so I did.”

“How long ago did he pass?”

“Going on three years.”

“Oscar's been gone for nearly six.”

“I hope it gets easier for you.” Then playing on something that Mark knew would bring a light into her face, he added, “You've got a grandson that's a kick.”

“Terran is my blessing.”

“I could see that at the parade.”

Suni cast her eyes down. She was obviously pondering the moment, then looked at him once more. “Why are you helping my daughter?”

Giving her an easy smile, he said, “I'd've figured by now that you'd be onto me. I'm doing it so she'll go out
on a date. I've asked before and she turned me down flat. Kept asking her—still no dice. So I thought to myself, I'll spend some time fixing up her place and then she'll give me her undying love.”

Without cracking the expression on her face, Suni said to him, “Give me a break. I know crap when I smell it.”

Mark burst into a laugh. “Is that right?”

“You're doing this for her because you have to. Because it's in you to do it.”

“I guess you could say it's something like that.”

Coiling a power cord, Mark moved around Suni to gather the rest of his tools. He didn't know how Suni had pegged him. Those eyes of hers drank in a lot more than Mark had guessed and she wasn't as quiet as he'd initially thought. She had depth to her, and an understanding that he'd probably never figure out. His mom was a lot like that. Kind of stood back and observed, watched things unfold, then tallied it all inside her head and sorted things out.

“Just don't do anything to hurt her,” Suni cautioned, bringing Mark back to the present. “She's been through too much. Stay on the path.”

He wasn't sure what she meant, but he knew he'd never mess with Dana's head in a malicious manner. Tease and flirt with her, yes. But hurt, no.

With his things put away, Mark was ready to go home—but before he left, he addressed Suni once more as he grabbed a cocktail napkin off the end of the bar. Using a pen from his jeans pocket, he said, “Here's my mom's phone number in Boise. Her name's Mariangela. Call her. Ask her about me. Trust me, she'll give you a straight answer.”

Suni stared blankly at him. “What would I ask?”

“Whatever's on your mind.” Mark stalled before handing Suni the phone number. “Better yet, do you have a computer?”

“Yes.”

Mark scribbled another line on the napkin. “She just got an e-mail address and she doesn't have a lot of people to write to. Go ahead and send her your best shot. I honestly don't mind.”

Taking the napkin, Suni stood there and didn't reply. For the first time since meeting her, she seemed at a loss.

“Don't worry about it. She's a nice lady. She'll be thrilled to have someone to talk to. You have things in common with her.”

Without another word, Mark gathered his tools and headed for his rental truck. After stowing his gear, he sat behind the wheel and didn't immediately turn the key. He gazed at the marina, watching the boats and seagulls.