Snowflake Bay (11 page)

Logan still didn't say anything.

“So, are we good? Can you just give Ben his old lot back so we can go on with our all-grown-up-now lives?”

“Yeah. About that.”

Her expression fell, as did something inside the pit of her stomach. Or, more truthfully, something a bit higher up inside her chest. “Come on, you've done your family duty, now call it off. I really don't need this now, Logan.”

“See, the thing is . . . there is no other tree lot. There was a screw-up.” He paused. There was under-the-breath swearing, then: “Long story, but the lot situation is a done deal. However, I can see what I can do about not having Ben actually run the thing.”

“Why would he? His family hires seasonal help for that, usually Cove locals, college kids home on break.”

“Because I told him he had to, until he made things right with you.”

“Well, now you can tell him he's off the hook.”

“I will. I just . . .”

“What?” she said, renewed dread filling her. “You just what?”

“I'm not sure he wants to be off the hook. He wants to make things right.”

“Tell him they are.”

“That's just it, Fi. If you can't tell him that yourself, then things aren't right. You know?”

She slumped down onto the stool by the built-in counter that used to hold Beanie's cash register. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“No, not really,” she said. Okay, maybe she snapped it. “But what's done is done. And maybe, possibly, you have a point. A very, very small one. We'll talk, and he'll go back to Snowflake Bay, end of story. However, you and me might have some family rifting to mend, if you know what I mean. You overstepped here, Logan. And whether or not your heart was in the right place, I'm not thrilled with you at the moment.”

He didn't respond to this, which Fiona knew meant he wasn't in agreement with her. “I'll see you Thursday,” he said. “Don't forget to call Alex about the décor stuff.”

“I won't,” she said, trying not to sound like a grump and failing.

“I love you,” he said.

And her grump collapsed. Like it always did with him. “I know you do. I love you back. I just don't happen to like you very much at the moment.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good,” she said. “I'll call Alex and tell her that her henpecked hubby begged me to come help.”

“Fi—” he started, true alarm in his tone.

“Paybacks are hell, big brother,” she said with a saccharine grin, before clicking off.

“Everything is going great. How's Dad?” Ben switched the phone to his other ear as he turned his truck into the freshly plowed Cove tree lot and put it in
PARK
.

“Well, you know him,” his mother said with a laugh. “It's all I can do to keep him from driving back up there to make sure you're doing everything right. I'm keeping us both busy here and that's helping.”

Ben smiled, but hearing her laugh didn't completely ease the knot from tugging at his heart. “Sounds like the two of you are going to be running that community before too long, the way you're going. You sure Dad's up to all that?”

“It's good for him,” she said, then added, “I'm in regular contact with his doctor here—who I think very highly of, by the way. I think we really lucked out there with Dr. Birmingham's recommendation. And I've run all this by him. I know what signs to look for to see if he's being overwhelmed. But, otherwise, it's good for him to stay active and for his mind to stay engaged, just not with things that he's responsible for managing, things that will create or add stress.” She paused, then added, her voice still calm and upbeat, “I know you're worried, sweetie. I am, too. It's a hard thing to accept, especially when he doesn't seem much different yet.”

“Is he okay with me running things? He's not too frustrated, not being given a bigger role—any role really? He's trusting me, right?” Ben had only spoken directly with his dad a few times since his parents' move south, not because either one of them wasn't willing to talk, but because Ben had been advised to keep his communication regular but minimal until after the holiday season, when things would slow down again. His father was kept in the loop, but the brevity of their calls kept him from trying to run things from South Carolina, which both of them knew he'd do if Ben gave him so much as an inch.

“Oh, of course he's frustrated. Are you kidding?” she said, laughing again. “But he has accepted it, Ben. He knows this is the right move, and he does want to do whatever he can do to put off the advancement of this disease. Some days are easier than others, but we're both on the same page there. And he does trust you. As do I. It will be easier once we're past this first season. Did you make plans for Thanksgiving?”

Ben understood that was his cue to stop talking about the hard stuff and move on to the normal day-to-day news, and frankly, he was happy to do so. He wasn't fooled. He knew her easy confidence came at a steep price. When she'd first told him what was happening, she'd put on a brave, optimistic front. It had taken some time and more than one conversation, but he'd finally gotten her to open up about it, wanting her to know that she didn't have to put on a brave front for him. She'd thanked him, said she'd keep it in mind, and then had gone back to doing what she was best at doing, managing her husband. It had always been the joke that his dad was only able to run Campbell Tree Farm so well because she ran him so well, and there was truth to that. In that regard, her job description hadn't changed.

“We're on schedule setting up the stands in Blueberry, Machiasport, and Chandler Falls. All things are go.”

“Saw there was a pretty big storm system heading in,” she said.

He wasn't surprised that she'd been watching the weather, or that his father had, more likely. He'd already told her about the new stand location, but not about anything having to do with the Fiona McCrae part of things. He wouldn't have worried her with the last-minute lot change, but he knew they had so many old, dear friends in Maine that surely someone would mention it. He wasn't too sure someone wouldn't gossip about the Rusty Puffin debacle, too, but he'd save that conversation until then. “Yes, they're predicting the night before Thanksgiving, but we should have the field and lots plowed and the trailer all set up in time to have the stand running Friday morning. I've got help on standby to dig out on Thursday if needed. And yes, we'll make sure everyone has their feast with their family. Everyone knows the drill when they sign on to help. We're ready.”

“That's really good to hear. How are things in Portsmouth?”

“Holding steady. All is well there.”

“We're excited about the magazine hitting the stands. I keep checking at the bookstore here.”

“You know I'll send you copies, right?”

“I know,” she said, “but I want to see one in its natural habitat. And maybe let it drop that that handsome devil on the cover is my son. You know, if anyone happens to be standing nearby.”

He chuckled. “Go for it.”

“Do you have any big plans for that? You'll have everything going okay in Snowflake so you can head back for any opportunities that might come up when it's finally out? You know the local papers might want to do a story on it. You really need to take advantage of this opportunity, honey. Don't let the farm get in the way of that. Once things are going, you can trust our long-term guys to handle things and just be on call. I know it feels like a long way off, but—just don't miss out on any opportunities because of the farm. The farm won't collapse if things don't go exactly according to plan. We—”

“Mom, I'm good. Truly. My business won't collapse either.”

She laughed then, a little self-consciously. “Yes, you've been a lot better at delegating than your father and I have been. That will serve you well.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I really appreciate all you're doing, for me, for your dad. I know it's not easy, and the timing stinks, but I wanted you to know—”

“I do, Mom. I do. I love you both and nothing is more important to me than making this transition as easy on you and on Dad as I can. As you say, nothing else is going to collapse, not the farm, not Campbell Landscapes. Just concentrate on Dad, and on taking over your community until it's run the Campbell way.” Now it was his turn to laugh. “We all know who really runs this farm, Mom.”

She laughed with him, but he could hear the emotion choking her up a little, so now he pulled the switch. “Did you hear that Hannah McCrae was getting married? To a Croix River Blue, of all people.”

“Well!” she exclaimed. “I missed that. My gossip connections have let me down. I'm thrilled for her.” She chuckled. “Please tell me the wedding is taking place in Calais.”

“Was originally, but Logan let slip that they've changed venues. It's all hush-hush at the moment, but it will be here in the Cove. Fiona is back, she's planning it.”

“Wow, that's two McCrae weddings in one year and she's handled both. How does she do that and keep her business going? Did I tell you about that award she won last summer?”

“Yes, but actually she's back in the Cove for good. Sold her business, from what I understand.”

“She—what? Really? What happened?”

“I don't know, exactly, but she mentioned something about not doing work that was inspiring to her and wanting to come back to where she could be more true to her vision.”

“Hmm,” his mother hummed. “Well, it's a shame she couldn't find the same fit in Manhattan you found in Portsmouth, especially given how hard it is to make your mark, and she'd made a pretty big one, from all I've heard.” She paused, then said, “So you saw her?”

“Yes, I was out to the Point—you should see what Logan's wife has managed there, with the renovations, truly miraculous—and ran in to her. Met Alex, Logan's wife, too.”

“Is Kerry still there, still helping Fergus with the Puffin?”

“As far as I know.”

“Imagine that,” his mom said, sounding both surprised and quietly happy. “All the McCraes back in the Cove. Everyone's happy?”

Ben's thoughts went immediately to the public dressing-down Fiona had inadvertently given him, and the gauntlet he'd yet to run in mending that particular fence, which included, by proxy, mending a fence with Logan as well. He cleared his throat. “Yes, they all seem to be. Especially with another wedding coming.” He felt slightly guilty for glossing over the situation with Fiona, but his mother had enough on her plate

“Well, it's probably just as well you'll be far away from the Cove before the two sides of the Blue clan are forced to sit across the aisle from one another.”

“Actually,” Ben said, “the wedding is Christmas Day.”

There was a full pause, and then his mother burst out laughing, surprising a laugh out of him as well. “Mom,” he said, “so not like you.”

“Oh, honey, it's exactly like me. Do me a favor, wrangle an invite. I want a full report. I'm apparently missing too much of my Maine gossip.”

“Mom,” he said, hating the echo of a purely adolescent whine he heard in his very grown-up voice.

“I don't ask for much,” she said. “Full report. Even better, take your phone and text me photos before, during, and after.”

He pulled the phone away, staring at it like he was looking at a stranger, then put it back to his ear. “Mom, I can't believe—I am not going to text you photos.”

“You never told me what you were doing for Thanksgiving,” she reminded him.

“Right,” he said, knowing where this was heading. His mother had decided it was time for him to start giving her a grandchild to fuss over, and for that he kind of, sort of, needed a woman in his life. His dad's diagnosis had only accelerated her personal mission. “I'll see what I can do about the wedding photos.”

She was not so easily dissuaded. “With all the McCraes home, it would be lovely for you to spend time there. I've seen photos of the restoration, but I'm sure they don't do it justice. Truly amazing that they finally were able to do all that.”

“It's way more impressive in person. I was even able to go up in the lighthouse with Logan.”

“That's wonderful. It makes me happy, knowing everything there is being tended to now, both the land and the people.” She sighed. “And who knows, maybe all these McCrae weddings will rub off on my favorite son.”

“I'm your only son.”

There was a smile in her voice as she said, “And aren't you the lucky one.”

He chuckled. “I am, indeed. Love you, Mom. I'll give Dad a shout after we get everything up and running. Hopefully we'll get plowed out for Friday opening on the lots, but opening day at the farm is Friday, storm or no.”

“I will give him the report. Give my best to the McCraes.”

“If I see them, I will.”

“Ben—”

“Enjoy the holiday in your new home,” he said. “I need to get going if we're going to be set up in time.”

“We'll miss you,” she said, relenting at last.

“Me, too, Mom. Love you,” he said, then clicked off, absently rubbing the spot on his chest as if it would ease the twinge that seemed to have taken up permanent residence there since his dad's diagnosis.

He slid the phone into his chest pocket, shut off the engine, and palmed the keys as he opened the door and slid out. The cold air hit him square in the face, so he turned back, grabbed his knit hat and pulled it on, then took his gloves from the bench seat and backed out so he could shut the door. Only to turn and come up short as he found himself standing not a foot away from Fiona McCrae.

“I know what Logan did,” she said without preamble. “You don't need to be here, doing penance for him. I'm sorry you overheard what you did at the Puffin.”

“Fiona—”

She gave him the universal talk-to-the-hand gesture. “Let me say my piece.”

He merely nodded and shoved his gloves and hands into his jacket pockets.

“As I said, it's awkward for us both, but we're adults. It was a long time ago, and I don't need or want anything from you. Well, other than to put that stupid nickname to rest, but I'm guessing my little rant to Kerry probably took care of that. So, whatever you or Logan thought was necessary, isn't. You can go back to doing whatever it is you should be doing, and I'll get on with setting up my new business, and life will go on as before.”

She seemed to run out of steam at that point, but he waited an extra beat or two, just to make sure. “You done?”

One of her slim dark eyebrows immediately arched, but she merely nodded. “Happy Thanksgiving,” she said, then turned to leave.

“Hold up.”

She turned. “Ben, there's nothing else that needs—”

“Says you. You got to give your little speech, now I get to give mine.”

“My whole point was there is no need—”

“You might not need to, but I do.”

Now she looked uncomfortable and a lot less strident.

“Fi—”

“Can we not do this?” she asked, surprising him with the quiet way she'd made the plea, those big, beautiful amber eyes of hers imploring him to do as she asked. “Can't we just let it go?”

“We can,” he said, thinking the way the tension left her shoulders in abject relief made him feel even worse than he had before. Something he hadn't thought possible since he'd been left standing in Fergus's pub. “Just as soon as I say what I need to say.” She stiffened all over again, and he had to reach out and take her arm as she tried to turn and walk away. He turned her back to face him, his hand remaining on her arm, just in case. “I can't leave us like this. With you not even able to bear me talking to you. And it has nothing to do with your brother. I'm here because I need to be here.”

“We can talk,” she said. “Just not about this. It's already mortifying enough—”

“What's mortifying is finding out that someone I care about a great deal, someone who has been such an important part of my life, was made to feel anything but important and cared for.”