Torchlight (6 page)

The old house reverberated with a loud groaning and squeaking noise.

“What is
that?
” Tara asked.

Julia and her new friend sat at Torchlight’s kitchen table, drinking tea from delicate china cups. “Creepy, huh? It’s the heating lines. Cast iron. They
have
to go. Unfortunately, it’s very ugly, dirty, heavy work. The men get rid of the lines in chunks, using a pipe wrench, a hammer, a chisel—whatever works. You should see their hands. I don’t know if they’ll ever get them clean.”

“How is Trevor working out?”

“I have to admit, he’s a godsend. My life would have been miserable without someone like him on board.” She wrinkled up her face. “But I have this weird thing going on with him. It’s like we’re at each other’s throats all the time. I say one thing, he says another. I do one thing, he does another. We’re constantly at odds.”

“Could it be that he’s so spectacularly handsome that he makes you edgy?”

Julia looked up at Tara in surprise. “What are you talking about? I already have one man in my life, and that’s quite enough, thank you very much.”

“Just a suggestion. Tell me about your man,” she invited.

“Miles. He’s an attorney in San Francisco. Handsome, talented, stable, reliable.”

“And generous,” Tara said, fingering the petals of giant red roses.

“Yes.”

“How long have you been dating?”

“Four years.”

“Wow. That’s a long time. What’s the deal? Are you in love? Almost married?”

“Not exactly.” Julia frowned slightly. “I guess we’ve been heading toward marriage all along, but there’s something that niggles at me, something missing. I guess I thought coming out here, gaining some distance, would help us figure it out. Our relationship is solid, comfortable. Maybe too comfortable. I think I just need a break to see it more clearly. For him, too.”

“I see. Kinda like if he moves out here, or you can’t stand to be without him, you’ll finally know?”

“Kind of,” Julia agreed.

“I know what that’s like. Ben and I have been buddies so long, I
don’t think he can see me in any other light. But I’m tired of the way things stand. It’s time for a change.”

“Maybe we can form a support group,” Julia quipped.

“Yeah.” Tara turned back to the roses. “How handsome
is
Miles?”

“Oh, attractive. Tall, blond. Sophisticated. More basketball player than football.”

“More handsome than your hired man?” she egged her on.

At exactly that moment, Trevor emerged through the basement door, carrying a huge chunk of cast-iron tubing; his arm and chest muscles bulged from the effort. Sweat ran down his face, and his T-shirt was soaked. Yet he passed them with a bright smile that crinkled up his eyes warmly in the corners. The three plumbers passed by as well, carrying their own smaller segments.

“Just a question,” Tara said lightly. “Tell me more about yourself.”

“Well, obviously I was born into a family with great taste in property, and I was blessed with that trust fund that turned over when I hit the big 3-0. My grandmother didn’t want anyone marrying me for my money, you see, before I was old enough to spot ’em for myself. Not that there’s ever been any danger.” She paused to look around her. “All my life I’ve dreamed of coming back here. Somehow it feels more like home than the house I grew up in.

“I tried to please my parents and go the professional route; I did all right as a CPA. But it just wasn’t me. It was like God was calling me home.” She grinned. “I mean to Torchlight, not to heaven. And he wouldn’t let me rest until I listened.”

“So you’re a believer.”

“As of a year ago.”

“I see. What happened? If you don’t mind my asking …”

“Not at all! My brother, Jake, works as a foreman at a ranch in Montana. After he got married, I stayed with Dirk and Rachel Tanner, the owners of the ranch, for two weeks. They had an incredible impact on me, and I realized how hollow my faith was. They helped me discover what it means to me, personally.

“That’s another reason why I had to come here. I needed some time to myself … to grow. It feels good to be on my own. Away from my family and my boyfriend—at least for a while—and my old life. I’m thirty years old! It’s high time I figured out what I believe … and live it. I’ve got a long way to go.”

Tara reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Me, too. I hope we can be there for each other. Would you want to go to church with me sometime? I think you’d enjoy getting to know our pastor and the congregation. It’d be a great way to meet some of your neighbors.”

“I’d love it. I’ve been so busy since I got here, I haven’t had time to stop and think about it.”

“Well then, I’ll just badger you until you actually come.” Tara stretched and looked at her watch. “I’d better head back to the restaurant. But consider this: It might please God to see you cut Trevor a little more slack. The man’s a believer too.”

The news so surprised Julia she didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t look so shocked!” Tara looked at her strangely. “Why are you so suspicious of Trevor?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Julia admitted. “There’s just something vaguely … dangerous about the man.”

Tara frowned with concern. “Dangerous, physically dangerous?”

“No. No. I feel perfectly safe with him that way. It’s more … I don’t know.”

“No?”

Julia squirmed under her gaze as Trevor came through the door again and disappeared into the basement.

“Are you sure you don’t know what bothers you about him?” Tara asked leadingly, narrowing her eyes. “Or do you know exactly what throws you off center?”

“Isn’t it time for you to leave?” Julia asked her saucily, tossing a napkin across the table.

“Oh no,” Tara said. “We’re just getting started, my friend.”

“Well, you may be,” Julia said, rising. “But I’ve got work to do. Can I pour you a cup of coffee as I go?”

“No. I get the hint. I’m goin’, I’m goin’. But we will talk more about this someday, Julia.”

“Maybe. Have a good day, Tara.” She grinned. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“My pleasure.” She leaned forward. “Now don’t work that poor man into a lather. You decide if you’re interested or if you’re not. Don’t mess with his heart.”

“Good-bye, Tara.”

“Bye,” she said, obviously aware that she had stepped on Julia’s toes and caring not a whit.

The workers wrapped up the removal of the old boiler and cast-iron heating lines within three days and moved on to the plumbing and wiring. One night late Julia found Trevor still in the kitchen working on leveling and supporting the sagging ceiling.

“Isn’t it time to call it quits?”

Trevor looked down at her from his ladder, frowning and rolling his neck to ease the tension. “Yeah, maybe now that you mention it …”

“You know I never intended for you to kill yourself on the job.”

“I want to get the kitchen, master bedroom, and main systems on line quickly. Then I’ll ease up. I like to get the grunt work over fast and take my time with the finish work.”

“Painting, wallpapering, and all?”

“Yes.”

“Closet artist?”

“Maybe.” He climbed down from his ladder and held out his hands. “Still black. I’m hoping one day to get back to my natural color.”

She smiled. “Have you had dinner?”

“Hadn’t thought of it until you came in.”

“How ’bout some leftover tomato basil soup?”

“That’d be great.”

Trevor made a valiant attempt to wash his hands as Julia heated the soup and toasted some bread. They sat down at the table, each trying not to feel awkward. It was the first time they had intentionally sat down alone together. Fortunately, both were famished, and the food afforded a welcome distraction.

“This tastes great,” Trevor said.

“Thanks. Got the recipe from Tara.”

“Figures. That woman can cook better than anyone I know.”

Julia fought off a ridiculous feeling of jealousy. She stood. “I’d better turn in. When we get the kitchen in shape, I’ll make you my famous fried chicken, regardless of what it does to our arteries.” Julia’s forward manner surprised even herself.

He rose with her. “Or you can come over to my place and I’ll cook you dinner.”

“I don’t think so. I feel more comfortable here, in the big house.”

He brushed by her lightly as he exited the breakfast nook. “Of course.”

Something in his manner disturbed her. “Look, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea—”

“Not a good idea? No, I think that if you really listen closely, maybe you’ll hear that you’re attracted to the man you hired.”

She frowned in consternation. “Of all the arrogant … Have you talked to Tara?”

“No. Why, do I need to talk to Tara? Does she know something?”

“Not at all!”

“Good night, Julia.” He ducked out of the kitchen, walked quickly to the front door, and opened it.

“I have something else to say to you—”

“I think we both had better turn in now. We have a long day tomorrow.” He shut the door before Julia could respond, leaving her utterly frustrated.

The phone rang, as it almost always did about this time of night.
Probably Miles.

Julia sat down and let the phone ring until it ceased.

H
i, Sally,” Ben said to the new waitress as he sat down at the counter in the restaurant. The slim blonde automatically poured him coffee. “Tara in?”

“She took the day off. She’s workin’ on her cookbook. I’ll be fill-in’ in on Thursdays for the next couple of months so she can spend her time on that.”

Ben nodded and lifted his coffee cup to his lips, pretending to be unmoved by the news. Tara was always here, always ready to cheer him up, make him smile. It disgruntled him that she would leave the restaurant to pursue her lofty dreams of a cookbook. What a waste of time, of money! She should stay where she was meant to be, which was here, at her restaurant, ready to pour him a cup of coffee and talk over the latest about Mike, or …

He frowned at his own explanation. He was miffed because Tara wasn’t here, waiting on him like she always had. What right had he to be so presumptuous? To assume she’d stick around just to see him? They were just friends! He chatted with some locals sitting down the counter from him, then left a dollar under the saucer. Pausing outside, he debated between going home and going to see Tara.

He decided to head home.
No sense giving her the wrong idea.
It was only a short walk to the docks. Directly before him stood a large group of cottages that faced the sea. This was where he had been raised. After Sharon had died, he had given up the house on the hill
and settled Mike back in the little cottage of his youth. It wasn’t much, but it had given him a sense of security that nothing else could.

Mike was outside, sitting with the old-timers on boxes at the dock and working with Henry Abrahms, nailing oak laths and frames into lobster pots. The boy loved to listen to the old-timers talk fishing, and he spent hours with them, building pots or painting buoys the DeBois colors of red, gold, and purple. Each fishing boat had its own distinctly colored buoys, which were attached to the traps on the ocean floor, making it easy to decipher whose pots were whose.

“Ben,” Henry nodded in greeting.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Mike. Done your homework?”

“Not yet.”

“Better get to it.”

“Dad …”

“Better get to it.”

Mike stomped off. Unfazed, the old-timers just kept on with their talk about the weather.

“Least it wasn’t so bad as las’ winter,” Henry said.

“Yep. That was a lousy trap-bustin’ winter. Practically had to start from scratch with new pots. Even had the missus working on ’em with me.”

“With these prices, a body can’t afford to be short one pot.”

“With these prices, I can’t afford to eat lobster. I’ll have to eat steak.”

“Prices don’t matter much when you catch half what we used to,” Ben broke in.

“The bottom is crawlin’ with snappers,” Henry said. “It’ll be better this season.”

“Don’t think so,” Ben said. “We take too many because we all have families to feed. But a lot of them are first generation. We’re going out farther and taking more. How long can it keep up?”

“The snappers will always be there,” Fred Nearing said gruffly.

“Fred, you told me yourself that you remember gathering the lobsters
on shore
at low tide. When’s the last time you saw that? When’s the last time you caught anything less than a thousand feet down?”

Ben looked around at the group of honest, straightforward men who had spent a lifetime doing difficult, backbreaking work. The men were silent. They had braved heavy seas and gale-force winds and spent their lives in pursuit of the great clawed vermilion,
Homarus americanus.

I’ve spent half my life doing the same. And for what?

Feeling defeated, he followed Mike into the house.

The old-timers resumed their conversation, picking up with the raising of Danny’s boat that had sunk in the severe sou’easter of last season.

Tara watched the sea become an inky gray, scalloped with whitecaps from the spring breeze as the sun faded from the sky. From her kitchen window, she could nearly see the fishing village in which the DeBoises now lived, and she wondered again if Ben had come into the restaurant looking for her.

She turned back to her easel, willing herself to focus.
Humph. Would serve him right not to find me exactly where he always thinks I’ll
be.
She debated calling Sally to check but decided against it.
No use anyone thinkin’ I’m unduly interested.

Sharon had been a fine woman, a dear friend. But this thing that had developed over the last few years between the deceased woman’s husband and Tara had come to a head. Like Julia said she was trying to do with Miles, Tara had to do the same with Ben.
Fish or cut bait, Benjamin DeBois
, she thought angrily. If not for her, for Mike! The boy needed a mother and clearly adored Tara. Was Benjamin a blind idiot? Or just a stubborn nor’easterner, set in his ways and unwilling to change?