She stretched and yawned. “Boy, that change to daylight savings is a tough one,” she said. “I’m like Sunny, probably going to need a nap today.”
“You work too hard,” Mary said. “And speaking of work, I should be on my way. Lots to do.” She stood and hugged Bisky against her protests—Sunny had been right, Bisky needed a shower—and then she and Coco walked off toward town.
Bisky stood and stretched her back. At thirty-seven, she was starting to feel the aches and pains of a lifetime’s physical work. She loved what she did, loved the water, but it took its toll.
She spent a few minutes wiping down her rig, did the minimum she could get away with and then called it a job done. Not well-done, but done. As she crossed the road, heading for her house, she glanced in the direction Mary had gone. A tall figure walked slowly down the middle of the road. So tall and broad-shouldered that she had to look twice at him, because it wasn’t anyone from around here.
Or rather...
She stared, then took an involuntary step toward the man, unable to believe what she was seeing. It looked like her beloved childhood friend William Gross. Only, that wasn’t possible. Because William had sworn—with good reason—that he’d never, ever come back to Pleasant Shores.
AS WILLIAM WALKED the familiar and yet strange road toward the home he’d successfully escaped almost twenty years ago, he heard a man’s shout. “Look out, boy. I told you not to play by those...”
William cringed, an instant flashback to his childhood here: his father’s yelling and the likely painful aftermath. He snapped back to the present and turned in time to see a huge pile of crab traps teetering near a boy of five or six, who was poking at a small crayfish on the dock. The child didn’t even glance up.
William bolted toward the child and swept him up just as the big wire boxes crashed to the ground.
A couple of the traps bounced against William’s back, and he tightened his hands on the boy’s waist, holding him high and safe. As the clatter died away, William blinked, studied the startled-looking boy to ensure he wasn’t injured and then deposited the child in front of the old man who’d shouted. “Is he yours?”
“He’s my great-grandson, and he’s not to be playin’ around this close to the docks or the water. And that’s why.” He gestured at the cluttered heap of crab buckets. “Come on, boy, you can help me clean up the mess you made.”
Fair enough. William was just glad the kid wasn’t going to get a beating. “Need any help?”
The old man looked at him. “No, the boy needs to learn. Sure do appreciate your pulling him out of harm’s way.” He cocked his head, studying William. “You look like a kid who used to live here, name of Gross.”
William held out a hand. “That’s me, William Gross.” He tilted his head to one side. “And you’re...Mr. Smits?”
“Guess you’re old enough to call me Rooker.” The old man shook hands and studied William, curiosity in his sharp blue eyes. “Been a while.” He limped over to the cluttered traps, ushering the boy in front of him.
“You sure I can’t help you straighten out these traps?”
“We got it. Get to work, boy,” he told his great-grandson, and then turned back to William. “Heard you’re living in the city.”
“Uh-huh,” William said. “Nice talking to you.” He wove his way through the fallen crab traps before the man could ask any more questions.
When he got back to the street, he stood a minute, processing what had just happened. Three college degrees and twenty years hadn’t served to disguise him. He’d be recognized here. He’d have to figure out how to deal with that.
The sun was at its peak now, casting a surprisingly warm light that made William slide out of his sport jacket and sling it over his shoulder. Just being here made him think he shouldn’t wear a sport jacket, anyway. He felt pretentious, dressed up, here on the docks.
“William?” came a soft voice behind him. A voice that brought him back to laughter on sparkling water, and catching crayfish, and good meals around the table of a family that actually liked each other.
He turned and studied the tall brunette who stood before him. She wore work clothes, and she was older than the last time he’d seen her, but he’d never forget the eyes and the smile of his childhood best friend. “Bisky Castleman?”
“It is you!” She flung herself at him and hugged him fiercely.
She was tall for a woman, and more muscular than she’d been in school. Still, it was the first woman he’d held in two years and the hug felt good. Having a friend felt good and was something he needed to try to cultivate, now that he’d sworn off love.
They let each other go, finally, and stepped back.
“Where have you been, and what are you doing back?” Bisky asked. “I heard you were teaching in a college.”
“I was.” The casual way she asked the question told him she didn’t know what had happened. “Life’s dealt a few blows, and I’m here for an R & R break.” He tried to keep the words light.
She didn’t buy it. “Come over here and sit down,” she said, taking his hand and drawing him toward the same old fishing shack her family had always had. There was the same bench outside it, a little more weathered than he remembered. “Tell me what’s going on, because I know it would take a lot to bring you back to Pleasant Shores.”
“I appreciated your note when Mama died,” he said instead of starting up the story of where he’d been and what all he’d been doing, what had transpired.
“I’m glad my note found you. No one seemed to have a recent address.”
“I’ve lost touch.” He looked out over the bay, watched a pelican dip, snag
