Almost Home (24 page)

“What’s down there?” Wade lowered himself to the deck beside his son.

Austin looked up, and with one finger across his mouth, he whispered, “Fishies.”

Wade craned his neck and looked over the side of the dock.

“See?” Austin pointed into the water. “Fishies.”

“I see,” Wade said, earning a “shhhh” from his son.

Wade stretched out alongside Austin and watched the river below.

“Crabbies,” Austin said softly. “See?”

Wade nodded. “I see.”

From the opposite side of the river, a great blue heron rose, startling them both.

“Ooh!” Austin exclaimed. “Big bird!”

“That’s one big bird, all right,” Wade agreed. “That bird is called a heron. They like to walk along the edge of the river and eat the little fish.”

“My fishies?” a horrified Austin asked, and Wade nodded.

“Bad bird.” Austin scolded the heron whose wide wingspan had taken him to the mouth of the river, where he set down and began to troll the waters at the edge of the Bay. “Bad, bad bird.”

“Hungry bird,” Wade corrected him, then realized that his son was probably a little young for the food-chain talk. “Let’s see what else we can find out here on the river today.”

They resumed their places, both on their stomachs watching the river slowly roll by, and soaked up a bit of sunshine. The morning was tranquil, and for a quiet while, father and son simply enjoyed time in each other’s company. Several boats went by, one speeding by earning an emphatic “shhh” from Austin.

Wade turned onto his back, folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. It smelled like autumn again today, like falling leaves and the last of the summer annuals and the pine needles that had dropped to form a soft carpet beneath the branches. The nursery on the highway already had hay bales and pumpkins and mums for sale, and
he’d heard Dallas telling Berry that Olivia the florist was carving out pumpkins and filling them with flowers for the centerpieces on the tables for her birthday party.

With Austin curled up next to him, Wade moved one arm to hold the child close to his body. Within minutes, Austin was asleep, his head on his father’s biceps, his breathing warm and gentle on Wade’s skin. Wade was aware now that Austin was not just an important part of his life, but a necessary one, and that every decision he made and would make for the next eighteen years or so would be done with Austin’s interests in mind. That reality had been waking Wade in the middle of the night for the past week. For one thing, it hadn’t been something he’d fully comprehended when he’d promised Robin he’d raise her son as his, but it had become a fact of his life. No regrets, but still, for someone who’d pretty much winged it for most of his life, having a constant was somewhat heady. The responsibility overwhelmed him when he thought about it, so he’d tried not to think about it very much. He’d long since come to believe that some things were better off left alone.

But along with the responsibility had come a sense of purpose he’d not expected, and he’d found that he enjoyed Austin more and more as time went on. He was pretty sure that most parents felt that way, but since he’d not had much preparation for becoming a father, so much had come as a surprise. Like the way his heart bounced just a little when Austin’s face lit up when Wade came home from being anywhere for any amount of time, be it several hours or fifteen minutes. Or the way Austin’s laughter made him smile every
time he heard it, or the pure and simple love Wade felt when, every night before he went to bed, he checked Austin’s crib to make sure he was covered and that his favorite stuffed giraffe was nearby.

To say that the child had blindsided him might be an understatement.

Austin was so happy here in St. Dennis that Wade was starting to wonder how leaving would affect him. His son had grown so close to Cody, and he was doted on by both Dallas and Berry. How would it affect him to lose them as part of his daily life so soon after having lost his mother? And what if he couldn’t find anyone in Connecticut who could provide the kind of child care Austin had always had? Ted had made his offer to Wade long before they came to St. Dennis, before Wade saw how the growing child adapted to his new environment and how quickly he’d bonded with the new people in his life. Before St. Dennis, for the most part, Austin’s inner circle had consisted only of an increasingly ill Robin, and Wade. Occasionally their upstairs neighbor, Mrs. Barker, watched Robin and Austin when Wade had to be somewhere else, like when he’d made the trip to St. Dennis for Beck and Mia’s wedding. It had been Mrs. Barker who’d called Wade that night to let him know that he needed to come home, that Robin had taken a turn for the worse, and that she didn’t want to be there alone with the little boy if his mother passed that night in her sleep.

Child care was only one of the things Wade would need to investigate when he arrived in Connecticut on Monday. He hated to admit it to Dallas, but he was becoming increasingly concerned about the contract
that Ted kept promising to send him but that hadn’t arrived. The day after Dallas had raised questions—good questions, issues that hadn’t occurred to Wade—he’d called Ted and asked to have the contract overnighted so he could take a look at it. That was last week, and it still hadn’t come. He’d e-mailed Ted two days ago, but despite the promise, Wade had yet to receive it. So what, he had to ask himself, was this guy hiding? And wasn’t it a bad sign to begin a business relationship with someone you were starting to think of as “this guy”?

Well, soon enough Wade would know what was what. He planned on touring the brewery on Monday and the town of Oak Grove on Tuesday, look for child care and living accommodations on Wednesday. He knew the day-care center at the plant was an option, but he wasn’t sure how Austin would fare in a group setting after having lived with adults—very few adults—for his entire life. Yes, there was Cody, but he was older than Austin and wasn’t exactly a peer. Austin had never been around a lot of other kids his own age, and Wade didn’t know enough about parenting to tell when a kid like his, who was pretty shy, would be ready to join such a group.

Did all parents anguish over this stuff, or was it just Wade? And how did moms always seem to manage, anyway? Maybe he should talk to Dallas before he left on Monday. Then again, he had the feeling that any doubts he might express would likely raise her hopes that he’d changed his mind.

And then there was Steffie.

Nothing in his life had ever created as many conflicted feelings in him as Steffie. Deciding to claim
Austin as his own had been a piece of cake compared to figuring out where—if anywhere—he fit into Stef’s life, and where she fit into his. When it came to her, the only thing Wade knew for certain was that he didn’t have a clue. Oh, yeah, and that his body temperature rose and his ability to think clearly diminished in direct proportion to his proximity to her.

Bottom line: he’d been a fool to think he could stand that close to the fire and not feel its heat.

Like it or not, he was beginning to suspect that his concerns about the new job—the contract and about the move being too upsetting for Austin and the child care maybe not being what he wanted it to be—maybe it was all a smoke screen for the fact that more and more he was beginning to think that there was more for him in St. Dennis than he’d realized.

A shadow fell across his face, and he heard a soft clicking sound.

“You’d best put that camera away,” Wade said without opening his eyes. “I know guys who’ve tossed their sisters into the river for less than that.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist. You and Austin look so peaceful sleeping there together.” When Wade looked up, Dallas was staring upriver. “It sounds as if someone’s cutting down trees.”

“Berry said the other day that one of the lots near the warehouses was sold. Maybe the new owner is going to be building there.” He eased up onto his elbows, trying not to awaken the still-sleeping child.

Dallas was frowning. “I hope it’s not the lot closest to the properties I just bought. One of the reasons I found those warehouses so perfect for a movie studio
was that they were naturally shielded from the public. Those woods are a big part of that shield.”

“Why don’t you give Hal a call, see if he knows anything about that?” Wade suggested.

“Good idea.” She turned toward the house.

“Did you come out here for any reason other than to disturb my sleep?” he asked.

“Oh. Yeah.” Dallas took a few steps back in his direction. “Berry wanted to know if you could move that trailer that you brought all your stuff in so the caterers can start putting up the tent tomorrow.”

“Where would she like me to put it?”

“Someplace other than in her yard.”

“Any suggestions?”

Dallas appeared to be thinking. “You could probably leave it in one of the warehouses. Or maybe you could leave it over at Grant’s, back by the shelter. Either way would work. And it’s only for a few days.”

“I’ll think it over.”

“Think fast. The tent’s going up in the morning.” She waved and answered her ringing phone as she returned to the house.

Wade carefully lifted the sleeping boy and held him against his chest and shoulder. The trailer held everything he and Austin owned other than the things they’d needed here in St. Dennis. All the photographs Wade had taken of Robin that he’d saved for Austin, all of Austin’s baby toys, including the things Robin bought for him before he was born, before the combination of cancer and pregnancy rendered her too weak to do much of anything except sleep. And Wade’s notebooks, where he’d jotted down the formulas
for some of the best beer he’d ever tasted. He hated the thought of leaving those precious items anyplace where he couldn’t see them.

He wondered if he’d have time to clean out enough of the carriage house to fit the trailer inside.

Austin stirred, then snuggled. Wade hesitated for a moment, then went up to the house. By the time he got there, Austin was awake and ready for his morning snack.

“Why, you’re just in time,” Berry declared. “I’m having some yogurt with fresh pineapple. Who’d like to join me?”

“Me would.” Without prompting, Austin climbed into his chair, and Berry took the chair next to him.

“You hold the bowls for me, and I’ll do the scooping,” she said.

“Scoop.” Austin laughed. “Steppie.”

“Ah, you clever child.” Berry beamed and turned to Wade, who stood in the doorway. “See how he quickly he made that connection?”

“He’s clever, all right,” Wade agreed. “Especially where ice cream is concerned.”

“Eem.” Austin’s word for ice cream.

“After your nap we’ll go for ice cream, ace,” Wade told him. “Right now, have a snack with Aunt Berry.” He turned to Berry. “Would you mind if I tried to make some room in the carriage house for the trailer? I hate to leave it anyplace off the property.”

“If you can do so by tomorrow, dear. The caterers—”

“Dallas told me they’d be here in the morning.” He frowned. “Why do we need tents for the party, anyway?
Why don’t we have the party in here, in the house?”

Berry burned him with The Look. “Seriously, Wade? Picture several hundred people—most of them strangers to me—running amok in this house.”

“I doubt if Dallas’s friends would be running a—”

“My house, my rules. No strangers in the house. Which is why I insisted on hiring security for the weekend.” She turned back to the task of preparing yogurt sundaes for herself and Austin.

“Security? As in guards?”

“Absolutely. You haven’t been in the business, dear, so I forgive your naïveté. With the guests will come the reporters—print and TV—and with them will come hordes of paparazzi and every form of gatecrasher you could possibly imagine. I won’t have those people trampsing all over my property.”

“Do you mean trampling?”

“No, I mean
trampsing
, as in ‘trampsing about.’ ”

Wade smiled. It must be a Berryism. “So how do you intend to keep the interlopers out?”

“Invitations must be shown at the door, and they will be scrutinized for authenticity and the names checked against the final list. No invitation? Name not on the list? No admittance.”

“How do you determine whether or not the invitations are authentic?”

Berry smiled. “Dallas personally numbered them in a most discreet manner. On the back of the invitations there’s an ink sketch of the Chesapeake with a boat heading toward the sunset. The side of the boat bears a number. That’s the number of the invitation.”

“What about the river?” he asked. “Have you
thought about people who might try to sneak in from that direction?”

“Yes, dear, but there will be security around the dock area.” Berry smiled. “Besides, if anyone tries to sneak in from the river, their wet clothes will give them away.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to go to just to have a party.” Wade got a fork and stabbed a piece of pineapple. “I’d never have a party if I had to go to all that trouble.”

“When you’re world famous for making your beer, and people are clamoring for your attention, we’ll have this discussion again.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” He ate the pineapple and went out to the carriage house.

Once inside, he started taking a mental inventory of its contents. Old tractors, once used for cutting the grass, he supposed, before Berry hired a lawn-care service. A couple of canoes, a rowboat, garden implements, old sleds, and several pairs of old ice skates—men’s and women’s—that hung upon one of the vertical beams. Old furniture—chairs, tables, Victorian-era settees that had been stripped of their cushions and upholstery—sat in stacks throughout the large space. It was a stunning array of accumulated stuff that no one had used in at least a quarter century if not more.

“I don’t know what she’s keeping all this stuff for,” Wade muttered as he maneuvered around.

Toward the back wall he found some empty space, enough to contain a lot of the items closer to the door. He debated whether it would be easier to simply move the front items to the back or move everything back by ten feet. In the end, given the amount of time
he had to work with, he’d carry the canoes and roll some of the wheelbarrows—really, Berry? Five of them?—and hopefully, he’d have enough room to back the trailer into the carriage house.