Breakwater Bay: A Novel Read online

  Tears just came to my eyes and I couldn’t speak.

  “Hush, child,” Mother said.

  He frowned at her, puzzled, looked back at the baby. “What’s her name?” he asked. And from the bed where the girl lay almost motionless came one word. Merielle.

  Meri wiped away a tear, emotion for all those people filling her and spilling over. And the dawning of the enormity of what they had done and were about to do made her want to fling the book away. But she couldn’t stop reading. Her head was aching, and she felt sick to her stomach. She was stiff from sitting at weird angles while working on the ceiling all day, then sitting tensed and balled up in the chair reading this account of her birth.

  And she had to get to work tomorrow. Reluctantly, she put the book back, covered it with the other items that had come with it, and carried it to her bedroom. Looked around and finally put it on the top shelf of her closet.

  Meri quickly got ready for bed, crawled beneath the covers, and remembered that she had promised to call Gran. It was way too late. It would have to wait. She lay back, forced her muscles to relax, and let her thoughts unwind. She was thinking of her mother Laura and her mother the teenaged girl and wondering, as her eyes finally closed on sleep, how and why Alden had been there when she was born.

  Alden sat in the near darkness of the hotel bar, nursing a drink he didn’t want. The rock star’s creatures were rolled up in his editor’s office waiting approval from said rock star. Alden thought he would feel lighter, less moody when they were gone. Work could do that to you. You got so involved in the process, the development, that you took on the character of the work. Everything seemed to fall apart since he’d started on the nightmare souls that peopled the man’s memoir.

  He didn’t even know why someone like that would want to remember the life he led. Actually he was amazed that the man had any memory left at all. From the accounts of his life with drugs, drink, and indiscriminate sex, he should be dead.

  But now that the nasty little creatures were literally out of his hands, Alden didn’t feel a whit better. Possibly because of all the other stuff that was going on in his life.

  He couldn’t shake the memory of Meri, drenched in the rain, body shivering and face etched in anger. He’d been totally out of his element. Before then, things had always been what they were—comfortable in some ways, open-ended and frustrating in others.

  She’d been mad at him before, countless times, over various things he did or didn’t do, did or didn’t think, but this was the first time her anger had frightened him. Because it was just the beginning.

  She was probably sitting in her apartment right now. Reading the damn diary. Finding out about his part in the whole drama. Though frankly he had forgotten most of it.

  He glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he could catch the last train back to Portsmouth. But he’d agreed to meet Paige Whitaker for a drink and whatever came after, usually her apartment or his hotel room.

  He’d called her to let her know he would be in town. He thought it would be good to take his mind off everything. But now he wished he hadn’t.

  He looked at his watch again. It was too late to cancel. She’d be here any minute. Even as he thought it she appeared in the doorway. The brighter light of the lobby silhouetted her; she was tall and slim, with hair sleek to her shoulders. Nice woman, smart, inventive in bed, not interested in monogamy or commitment, which worked for him. But tonight for the first time in the year or two he’d been seeing her, he was struck by how much she resembled Meri.

  God, was he attracted to her because somehow she reminded him of the child he’d promised to protect, the woman she’d grown up to be, or was it just a play of the light because he had Meri on his mind?

  Paige saw him, smiled, and made her way across the room. He gulped down the rest of his drink and stood up. “Paige. You look wonderful.”

  Meri knew she’d been dreaming when she woke up shivering, with the covers tossed to the floor. She pulled them back onto the bed and curled up beneath them, determined to go back to sleep. It was still early, too early to get up and face a day of intricate detail work.

  But it was a no-go, and after forty minutes of unsuccessful willing herself back to sleep, she got up. She showered and dressed and spent a long time staring into her closet at the box on the top shelf. She was tempted to take it down and read a few more pages, but she knew once she started, she wouldn’t want to stop, so she closed the closet door. The past could wait until tonight.

  She drove to work and arrived so early that Doug was just getting out of his car when she drove into the parking lot. He waited for her to get out and they walked into the house together.

  “You’re early.”

  “Wanted to get an early start. You’re awfully dressed up.”

  He was wearing a suit and a striped tie, the same striped tie he dragged out for meetings and benefits unless it was black tie.

  “Meeting this morning. I was just picking up some notes.”

  They walked inside together. Doug turned up the thermostat and the radiators clanked to life. In a couple of hours it might actually be warm enough to work. April in Newport was turning into spring but the nights were still cold.

  Doug gathered up a pile of papers, stuffed them into a battered attaché case, and left again.

  Carlyn came in while Meri was making the coffee.

  “What’s going on?” Carlyn asked while she shrugged out of jacket and gloves. “Why are you here so early?”

  “Got up early. Anxious to get on with it.”

  “Where was Doug going?”

  “He said he had a meeting.”

  “Good.” Carlyn dropped her briefcase on the kitchen table and reached for two coffee mugs. “I just hope he comes back with some good news.”

  “He didn’t seem very happy this morning, and neither do you. What’s going on? Something with the project?”

  “Well, between you, me, and the fence post, we’re spending money faster than I’m finding it for him. He’s talking about cutting down to four days a week. Which means less pay for everyone.”

  “But good weather is on its way, which means we won’t have to use heat; that’s got to cost a bundle.”

  Carlyn merely nodded.

  The coffeepot beeped. Meri poured coffee into the mugs and handed one to Carlyn.

  “Thanks.” Carlyn took a sip. “It’s just that there are a bunch of big projects at the moment. They, of course, get first dibs on the available grant money.”

  “You’ve been doing a great job of finding cash.”

  “Thanks. I’m working on it, constantly. But I’m behind on the rest of my work. What we need is either a full-time fund-raiser or a secretary/archiver.”

  “What about an intern?”

  Carlyn gave her an are-you-out-of-your-mind look. “An intern could archive while I fund-raised, but by the time I taught the person the system, we’d be out of money again.”

  “Catch twenty-two,” Meri said sympathetically. “Well, then I’d better get started and try to ramp up my work rate.”

  “Did you bring your lunch?”

  “I haven’t had time to get to the store.”

  “Me neither. I’ll order something from Grady’s; know what you want?”

  “Nope, anything’s fine.”

  “Noon okay?”

  “Perfect. Now I better climb up my stairway to heaven if I’m going to finish this grid before the weekend.”

  Meri worked methodically for the first few hours. By late morning she’d completed the first square of the grid, and she began on the next. Her fingers were sore from the cleaning, which involved pressing just enough to remove the outer layers without destroying the original and using a dull blade and brush to remove the paint stuck in the crevices of the ornamentation. She’d said she’d ramp up her speed, but it was impossible. Any faster and work became sloppy, and there was no place for that in restoration.

  But she could already tell that it was going
to be a beaut. And with the discovery of the Owen Jones parlor wallpaper and the woodwork, there should be enough to garner interest from potential patrons. From Doug’s mood, and what Carlyn said, they needed all the help they could get.

  Meri was finishing a particularly stubborn spot when she noticed a hairline crack in the paint job running away from the center medallion. She didn’t think much about it; old houses settled, cracks formed. It was the nature of things.

  But a few minutes later, the inch-square section she’d been trying to clean crumbled and fell, taking a larger piece and several layers of paint with it. She just managed to catch a handful before it hit the scaffold’s floor. She gently laid it on a piece of cardboard and turned on her flashlight to take a look.

  And saw what she least wanted to see. The underbelly of the paint was cratered with bits of white plaster and black specks of mold. Evidence of past or present moisture. Enough to grow mold.

  “Damn,” she said out loud. She bagged the piece and sealed it, then maneuvered to get a better look at the ceiling. She slowly ran the light over the crack and surrounding area peering closely at the paint, poking and prodding with her finger. Everything seemed dry enough; the paint was hard and there didn’t appear to be any other weak or soft patches around the crack.

  It was probably from an earlier leak somewhere. Hopefully it had been repaired. But they would have to make sure and that could take up precious time they didn’t have.

  Evidence of moisture could be linked to a burst pipe, a flood on the second floor, a slow leak, or gutters that had probably not been cleaned while the house sat abandoned or even while it was a boardinghouse. It could be from the roof, or loose chimney flashing. Whatever had caused it, finding it and fixing it would be a pain in the butt.

  She would have to take the fallen piece down to show Doug. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to call in the EPA again.

  It was close enough to lunchtime to take a break. She put away her tools and double-checked her workspace. God forbid a truck rattled past and sent an X-Acto knife hurtling down on the heads of her coworkers.

  Holding the dubious specimen, Meri climbed down to the first floor and made her way back to the kitchen. No one was there, so she left the bag on Doug’s desk and went to clean up for lunch.

  When she came back, Carlyn was paying the delivery boy.

  “Add that to what I owe you from Friday,” Meri said and started pulling food out of the bag.

  “Hungry?” Carlyn asked.

  “Ravenous. I managed to miss dinner and breakfast this morning. I really have to get to the grocery store tonight.”

  “You’re not broke, are you?”

  “No. I have money, just no time.” Or inclination, Meri thought. Yesterday she’d dreaded seeing what was in the box her mother had left, and today all she really wanted to do was get home and read more of the diary.

  Doug came in a few minutes later, looking harassed and disheveled. No wonder Carlyn was carrying a torch; he was completely adorable.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee, but instead of carrying it over to his desk, he sat down at the table with the two of them and heaved out a sigh.

  Meri pushed the sugar container toward him. He poured a stream of sugar into his cup. He seemed so distracted that he might have just kept pouring if Carlyn hadn’t snatched it out of his hand.

  He grumbled to himself.

  “What’s the matter, boss?” Meri asked.

  Doug scrubbed his face then looked over his fingers at her. “Where do you want me to start? The part where we’re over budget and we haven’t even come close to finishing the projected work for the quarter? Or the part where we lost the Lendenthal grant to the Hopkins House?”

  “Ah, crap,” Carlyn said. “Nasty break.”

  Doug rumbled some more.

  “Well, we’ll just have to plug along,” Meri said, trying to be optimistic and wishing she didn’t have to inform him of the envelope sitting on his desk.

  “It’s not you. It’s everyone. Not that any of you are working too slowly. I only hire the meticulous best. I’m not going to start cutting corners now, and I’m not going to paint the whole damn house white.”

  “Uh-oh,” Carlyn said. “You’ve been talking to Sweeney again.”

  “It’s not her fault. She’s juggling a list an arm long of people wanting grants to restore.”

  “I’m working on getting some corporate sponsors.”

  “And don’t think I don’t appreciate it. Ah, what the hell, we’ll see it through. Somehow.”

  “We always do,” Meri said. She stood and gathered up her trash then stopped. “But I have to warn you, we may have a bit of a problem with the ceiling.”

  “Oh God, what now?”

  Meri walked over to the desk and lifted the envelope. “This fell off the ceiling while I was working this morning.”

  Doug took it, turned on the desk lamp, and pulled out a jeweler’s loupe. “And this just broke off?”

  “Yeah, no warning; everything felt solid. It was near a settling crack but nothing to indicate the paint or the plaster were compromised.”

  “Damn.”

  “It didn’t look too bad. I’m going to do a few random samples this afternoon, just to check it out. Hopefully it’s an isolated occurrence, and if need be, we can just inject some adhesive . . . fingers crossed. I’d hate to lose too much of the original pattern until we get a good schematic of it.”

  “Me, too. Do what you need to do. Wear a ventilator.”

  “Doug,” Meri whined, knowing he was right and that she’d been lucky so far not to have to totally suit up.

  “Do it.”

  “I could have been a dental assistant and done all this work right side up—and wear makeup.”

  Doug cracked a smile. Mission accomplished.

  “Just do it.”

  Meri saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “And a hard hat,” he called after her.

  As Meri reached the hall her cell rang. She fished it out of her pocket and checked caller ID. Her heart gave a painful thump. Peter.

  She listened to it ring, while adrenaline coursed through her. What if he’d changed his mind? Wanted her to come to California with him? Or maybe he’d decided not to go. She wasn’t ready to tell him her history, but she couldn’t not tell him, if they wanted to stay together.

  The phone rang again; one more ring and it would go to voice mail. She pressed answer. Took a breath. “Hi.”

  Chapter 9

  I can’t stand this.”

  No hello, no whatcha doing? And Meri didn’t know what to say. So she waited.

  “Can we please talk? I realize that I should have waited until after dinner to spring the whole California thing on you, but I was so excited. Let’s have a drink tonight or I could come over and bring a bottle of wine.”

  No, not at her apartment. Not with the diary in the next room. She needed time. And she needed to finish the rest of the entries or at least the ones from that year before she could decide how much to tell him or Carlyn—or anyone.

  “I can’t tonight.”

  “What about tomorrow or Thursday? I have to drive out to see the parents for the weekend.”

  “I—”

  “Come on, Meri. Let’s just talk. Things happened too fast. I miss you already. I’m not willing to give up just because I’m gone for the summer.” Pause. “Are you?”

  Of course she wasn’t, but how did she say, It’s not you, It’s me, without sounding like every television serial out there. But it was true. What was she afraid of? If she loved and trusted him, wouldn’t she want to tell him? “How about tomorrow after I get off work? But let’s meet at Grady’s. It will be quiet and we can talk.”

  “Good. You want me to pick you up?”

  “No. I’ll meet you there. I’m not sure if I’ll be coming straight from work or not.”

  “Things picking up around there?”

  She had to smile; things didn’t pick up in t
he restoration world, they just plodded along like the proverbial tortoise, enjoying the process, reveling in the minutiae of discovery, until the final reveal. Or until the money ran out.

  “Pretty busy. See you tomorrow.”

  She stopped by the equipment room and checked out a respirator. Her hard hat was already on the scaffolding platform. She hated using it. Between the hat, the ventilator, the head lamp, and the light scope, it put too many obstacles between her and the study area.

  On the other hand, she didn’t want the ceiling coming down on her head, or to risk breathing in mold or lead dust.

  Before she climbed up, she stopped to chat with Joe Krosky, who was working on the parlor walls. Joe was an intern from University of Rhode Island, but not your typical intern. He was taking a break from Ph.D. work in molecular biology. His hobby was renovation.

  He was one of those perennially energetic people, who bounced on their toes while attempting to stand still. Only when he was working did he seem to enter some Zen state of quietude. He always wore the same thing to work: white painter’s overalls and a bright red bandanna securing his bushy carrot-red hair.

  “Any mold?” Meri asked as she watched him meticulously trace the wallpaper pattern near the arched doorway.

  “Nope, but I shudder to think what’s been chewing on the woodwork.”

  Meri did shudder just thinking about it. “I’m sure whatever it was, is gone.”

  “I hope so. I keep expecting to turn around and find an audience of rodents sitting up on their hind legs ready to applaud.”

  “With little top hats and white shirt fronts?”

  Joe bounced on his toes. “And spats.” He went back to work, serenity returned.

  Meri went out to the foyer and climbed up the ladder.

  She spent the afternoon inspecting for mold, loosened paint, and weakened plaster. It was boring work, so she was surprised when Joe called up to say work was ending early and Doug wanted them to come down to the kitchen.

  Meri pulled off her respirator and leaned over the edge of the scaffolding. “Please tell me someone’s having a birthday.”