Butternut Summer (4 page)

So she was going to see him again, she thought, after eighteen years. And then something occurred to her, something that made the corners of her mouth twitch up in a smile. She'd often wondered, since he'd left, if the passage of time would be kind to Jack's looks, and she'd decided that it probably wouldn't be. After all, all those years of hard living would take their toll on anyone, even someone as good-looking as Jack. She pictured him now with a receding hairline, a spreading waistline, and a jowly neck.

“How does he look?” she asked Jessica suddenly. “Does he, you know, look bad?”

“Bad how?” Jessica frowned.

“Bad like . . . well, like old and kind of broken down. You know, bloated. Puffy. The way a man looks when a lifetime of bad habits finally catches up with him.”

Jessica looked perplexed for a moment, but then she shook her head. “I don't know what he looked like before. But he looks good now. I mean,
really
good. When I first walked over to his table—before I knew he was Daisy's father, because now, of course, it feels a little strange to think this—but when I first walked over there, I thought, ‘This guy's not from around here. If he were, I'd remember him.' We don't have that many—”

“Okay, that's enough, Jessica,” Caroline said with a flash of annoyance. “You can get back to work now. I'll handle Mr. Keegan.”

Jessica nodded and started to leave, but Caroline called her back. “Where's he sitting, hon?”

Jessica considered. “At table five, I think. Or maybe it's table seven. I get them mixed up. It's the one—”

“Never mind,” Caroline said distractedly. “I'll find him.” Jessica nodded and closed the door behind her. And Caroline stood up from her chair and then immediately sat back down again. She wasn't just angry, she realized; she was nervous, too. Which was ridiculous, really.
She
had nothing to be nervous about.
He
was the one who should be nervous. He was the interloper here, not her. And not Daisy.
Daisy!
In all the tumult following Jessica's news, she'd completely forgotten about Daisy.

Thank God she was late, she thought, glancing at her watch. Thank God she hadn't seen her father. Hadn't seen her father
yet
, she corrected herself. And just like that, her nervousness was gone, replaced by a pure, blind fury. She practically catapulted herself out of her chair, flinging the office door open and running down the narrow hallway to the coffee shop's back door. It was one thing for Jack to spring himself on her, she thought, her mind racing as fast as her body; it was another thing for him to spring himself on their daughter. After all, Daisy had long since accepted the fact that her father was a father in name only. The last thing she needed now was for him to reappear, opening up old wounds and bringing back old memories.

Caroline opened the back door to Pearl's and came out from behind the counter, her eyes scanning the room. There he was, at table five.
Table five, Jessica
, she thought, gritting her teeth and heading straight for him. He didn't look up. Instead, he leaned back comfortably in his chair, glancing casually at the menu, acting as if his being here were the most natural thing in the world, as if the only thing on his mind was whether to order the BLT or the turkey club.

When Caroline reached him, she stopped abruptly, and, resting her hands on the tabletop, she leaned across it toward him.

“Jack,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice. “What the
hell
are you doing here?”

H
e looked surprised, shocked even, but only for a second. After that, he recovered his equilibrium, his infuriating equilibrium. “Caroline,” he said, putting down his menu, “I don't remember you ever swearing before.”

“Well, I don't remember ever having as good a reason to swear before, Jack,” she said, leaning a fraction of an inch closer to him. “But we don't have time to discuss that now. You need to leave before Daisy gets back. And I
mean
it,” she added. “She's not going to see you here today. Today or any day. Is that clear?”

“Caroline, calm down,” he said. But she saw a worried expression flit briefly over his face.

“I will
not
calm down,” she said, bringing her fist down on the table hard enough to make the ice jump in Jack's glass of water, hard enough to make the customers at the table next to theirs stop their forks in midair and turn to stare. But Caroline, usually the consummate professional, didn't care if she was making a scene.

“Caroline, it's all right,” Jack said, his tone placating. “I've already seen Daisy. Not today. But recently. And she knows I'm here now. She's supposed to be here now, too.”

“What?” was all Caroline could say.

“Look,” he said, almost gently. “Sit down, okay? Just for a minute. And I'll explain it all to you. Or I'll try to, anyway.”

Caroline, moving mechanically, pulled out the chair across from him and sat down on it. Not because she thought sitting down at the same table with him was a good idea. She didn't. But because she couldn't think of anything else to do right at this moment. She was, quite simply, in shock.

“Miss, excuse me,” she heard Jack say, at the periphery of her consciousness. “Can you bring Ms. Keegan a glass of ice water?” A moment later, Jessica was back with the water and, looming up behind her, was Frankie.

“Is there a problem here?” Frankie asked, towering over their table. Caroline took a sip of the water and watched while Frankie gave Jack the once-over. She'd seen Frankie do this to men before, with predictable results. But Jack, she saw, more than held his own, returning Frankie's stare with a cool, levelheaded one of his own. Jack, she knew, was an excellent poker player. Whatever else you could say about the man, he knew how to bluff.

“There's no problem,” Jack said. “I'm just meeting my ex-wife for lunch.”

Frankie's face registered surprise, something it rarely did. “Is he . . . is he who he says he is?” he asked, looking at Caroline.

She nodded dumbly.

“Do you, uh, do you want him to stay?” Frankie asked.

She hesitated, then nodded again.

“Well, okay,” Frankie said uncertainly. “But let me know if you change your mind,” he added. He glowered at Jack again and left the table. Caroline, meanwhile, sipped her water and felt her shock beginning to recede. That was when she looked over at Jack and saw him—
really
saw him—for the first time that day.

There was no receding hairline, she noted with regret, and no expanding waistline, either. No bloating or puffiness. Jack Keegan was still very much the man she'd remembered him to be. He still had more than his share of tousled brown hair, for instance, none of which looked like it would be going anywhere anytime soon. And his dark blue eyes were brighter and clearer than they had any right to be, too, especially when you considered how little the man slept, and how much time he spent in dark, smoky rooms. Add to those his healthy suntan and lean athletic build, and he was a disappointment to her all around. But she consoled herself with the thought that, unlike Jessica, she knew enough about Jack Keegan to take some of the shine off all that handsomeness.

He looked at her now, looking at him, and shrugged apologetically. “Maybe this was a mistake,” he said. “I don't know. But I think Daisy thought—no, I
know
she thought—it was the only way for the three of us to be together. I mean, let's face it, if you'd known I was coming, you would have headed for the hills.”

“You're damn right I would have,” Caroline said, without hesitation.

Jack's mouth lifted at one corner. “Another swear word, Caroline. That's two more than I ever heard from you the entire time we were married.”

Caroline ignored that remark. She could feel herself slowly returning to her senses. As angry as she was at him for coming here, there were still things she needed to know from him. “Jack,” she said now, knowing Daisy could be there at any moment, “when did Daisy get in touch with you?”

But he shook his head. “Daisy didn't get in touch with me, Caroline. I got in touch with her.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed with suspicion. “Why, Jack?”

“Why? She's my daughter, Caroline. Do I need to have a reason for wanting to see her again?”

“You do when you've waited almost two decades to do it,” she said.

He shrugged. “I disagree. After all, there's no statute of limitations on being a parent.”

“Maybe not. But don't you think it's a little late for you to start playing that role?”

He lifted his shoulders in another shrug. “I think it's up to Daisy to decide whether or not it's too late.”

She sighed, exasperated. They were talking in circles. She wanted—
needed
—more information from him.

“How did you get in touch with her, Jack?” she asked, her jaw tightening.

“I googled her,” he said, a little sheepishly. “Her name was mentioned in her student newspaper. The intramural volleyball team she played on won a league championship. I figured if she was going to the University of Minnesota, she was probably living in Minneapolis. So I looked up her phone number there and asked her if she wanted to meet me for coffee.”

“How long ago was this?”

“A year ago.”

“And that was the last time you saw her?”

He shook his head. “No. I've seen her every month since then. The last time, just a few weeks ago.”

“What?” she said, trying to take it all in. And then she shook her head. “I don't believe it, Jack. I just don't believe it.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Daisy I know would never keep something like that from me. Not for a whole year. Especially since we've never kept secrets from each other before.” But even as she said that, she realized it wasn't true. She was keeping a secret from Daisy right now, a secret that she'd just locked in the desk drawer in her office. Who was to say Daisy wasn't keeping a few secrets of her own, she mused, especially after being away at college for three years.

She watched now as Jack took a drink of his water. He looked uncomfortable, something she'd rarely seen him look in the past, and it pleased her. A little.

“I don't think Daisy meant to keep a secret from you,” he said carefully. “I think she was afraid that if you knew she was seeing me, you'd be upset.”

“That's ridiculous,” Caroline said stubbornly. “Daisy's a grown-up. She's free to see whomever she pleases. She doesn't need my approval.”

“Maybe not. But she'd
like
your approval. And she wasn't going to get it this time, was she?”

No
, Caroline almost said, because it was the truth. But she opted for silence instead.

“Anyway, we're here now,” Jack said lightly. “All that's missing is our daughter, who's running a little late. But when she gets here, Caroline, I think we should both make an effort to be civil, don't you?”

At that, she shot Jack an irritated look. Since when had he played the role of the adult in their relationship? But still, he had a point. “Okay, fine,” she said. “I can do that. Be civil, I mean. It's just one lunch. And you probably need to be getting back to . . . where is it? Elk Point, South Dakota? That's a long drive, isn't it?”

“Actually, I'm not going back there,” he said, watching her a little warily. “I'm staying here, Caroline. In Butternut. Wayland left me his cabin when he died a few years back. I'm going to be living in it and fixing it up, at least for the foreseeable future.” With a hint of a smile, he added, “They're going to have to change that sign, from Butternut, population 1,200, to Butternut, population 1,201.”

Caroline stared at him, rendered speechless for the third time that day, and it was at that moment that Daisy appeared, apologetic, embarrassed, and breathless, her strawberry-blond hair disheveled, her shoelace untied on one Converse sneaker.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, sliding into a third chair at the table. “The truck broke down, Mom. It was the fan belt. I got it replaced. But my cell-phone battery was dead and . . .” But she stopped, then, and looked, slowly, from Caroline to Jack and back to Caroline again. “So what did I miss?” she asked, in a way that suggested she didn't really want to know.

D
on't you have anything better to do than watch me work?” Will asked Jason, looking up from the alternator he was repairing.

“Not really,” Jason said, lounging against a nearby car.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and, as usual, Will was working and Jason was . . . well,
not
working. This was because Jason's personal philosophy was never to do more at the garage than was absolutely necessary. And, so far, his philosophy was working for him. But only because his father owned the garage.

“So Daisy Keegan, huh?” Jason said, apropos of nothing. “Do you remember her, Will?”

“I remember her,” Will said, noncommittally, not looking up.

“What do you remember about her?”

“Not much,” Will said, hoping that would end the conversation. But Jason persisted.

“She was some kind of athlete, wasn't she? She played some sport.”

“Varsity volleyball,” Will said, without thinking. “She was good, too. Her sophomore year, they went all the way to quarterfinals.” He stopped. He'd said too much.

“I thought you said you didn't remember that much about her,” Jason said, suddenly alert. “And since when did you follow girls' volleyball in high school?”

“I didn't
follow
it,” Will said, carefully. “I just went to a few home games our senior year. You know, I didn't want to go back to my house, so it was either watch one of those games or go to the library.”