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He sat down at the kitchen table with Nate and Viv and sketched out a list of tasks immediately. The plan was familiar—they’d hashed it out three years prior, when they’d first applied for a permit to establish Pearl Tide Oyster Company.
Beau and Viv spent most of the next day harvesting as many market-sized oysters as possible, dragging cage after cage out of the creek, hauling them to the floating dock, and sorting through them as quickly as possible. When they returned each cage to the creek, they lowered it to the bottom—a process that wasn’t as easy or as fast as Beau had envisioned, especially with a major storm on the horizon.
“We can take care of this, you know,” Kit said, pulling him from his reverie. Standing on the screened-in porch of the cottage, she hammered a nail into one corner of a large wooden board positioned over a window. She pulled on the board, confirming it was secure, before she turned to face Beau. “It was very considerate of you to come over and help us prepare for the storm, but I know you must have a thousand things left to do on the farm.”
Beau studied her through the screen. Wind gusted, filtering through the mesh wire and scattering the long brown strands of her hair over one shoulder. Her eyes were bright, and a firm smile was in place, but the exhausted note in her soft voice belied her easy words.
“After Dad and I finish boarding the house up, we’ll secure the fish house and raise the dock lifts.” The same smile appeared again, tired and unsure. “He’s been listening to the newscasts almost nonstop since yesterday and says he thinks there’s a good chance Winnifred will turn out to be nothing more than a rough thunderstorm.”
“A gully washer,” Royal said, striding around the side of the house, a hammer in one hand and a bag of nails in the other. “Shouldn’t be no more than some whipping wind and rain. Then she’ll be outta here.”
“I hope so,” Beau said, retrieving another nail and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
Royal dragged the back of his hand over his forehead and looked up. His eyes roved slowly over the overcast sky. “Tell you what, though. One thing you ought never bet on is the weather.”
Beau noted the lines of strain around Royal’s mouth and the slight tremble in his hands. When Beau, ladder in hand, had arrived two hours ago, Royal had been standing on his own ladder, propped against the back side of the cottage, hammering boards into place, periodically reaching down to Kit, who passed him the boards, while Mackey passed him nails. All three of them had been at it awhile, and they had made it only halfway around the house when Beau joined them.
They’d made significant progress since—Beau and Kit had taken over boarding up the front of the house, while Royal and Mackey had finished up the back.
Royal narrowed his eyes at Beau. “Why don’t you head on back? ’Specially with what you got at stake. Me and Kit can take care of the rest of this and the boats, and Mackey can batten down the fish house. Can’t you, son?”
Mackey smiled and dropped the paintbrush. “Yeah, I can do it.” He sauntered over to Royal’s side and clamped a hand on his father’s shoulder. “What should I do, Dad?”
Grinning, Royal handed him the hammer and lifted his chin toward the back of the house. “I’ll show you, and you can tackle it while I help Kit finish boarding up the front of the house.”
Beau smiled as Royal slung his arm around Mackey’s shoulders and guided him toward the backyard. Royal stopped after a few steps and glanced over his shoulder.
“It was real decent of you to come over like this,” Royal said. “’Specially seeing as how we were short a set of hands.” He nodded, the small smile on his face slipping. “Real decent. And I know Kit appreciates it. We all do.”
Beau smiled, the rare compliment—which, he noted, had become a more frequent occurrence lately—sitting well with him. “I was happy to do it, sir.”
Royal issued another curt nod, then left, giving Mackey directions along the way.
“He misses Viv.” Kit pushed her hair back over her shoulder and tucked it behind her ear as she watched Royal and Mackey walk around the house and out of view. “So does Mackey.” She returned her attention to him and smiled, but sadness shadowed her eyes. “We had such a nice time the other night. All of us in one place, together . . .” Her chest rose on a strong breath. “It felt like we were a family again, even if it was just for a few hours.”
Beau looked down at the nail in his hand, recalling how quiet Viv had become after the Frogmore stew dinner two nights ago. She hadn’t said much at all during the walk home—Cal, still excited from the day’s fun, had done most of the chatting—and she’d grown more withdrawn throughout the next day, as she’d culled oysters. Several times, her hands had paused while sifting through the crop and her attention had drifted off, her eyes focusing on the clouds building and the water rippling in the distance.
“She enjoyed the night we spent here, too,” Beau said, meeting Kit’s eyes. “Too much, I think, for her own comfort. It was hard for her to leave home two years ago, and I think it brought up a few regrets.”
Kit moved closer and touched the screen with one hand, her dark eyes seeking his through the mesh wire. “Did she tell you why?”
“Why she left?”
Kit nodded, her expression eager.
Beau hesitated, unsure how much of what Viv had revealed to him was really his to share. “I know things had become very difficult here. She and your mom . . . Well, Sylvie wasn’t doing well at all, and it was taking a toll on Viv.” He glanced at the side of the house where Royal and Mackey had disappeared, and lowered his voice. “Royal had become pretty down—he rarely left the house—and he and Viv didn’t talk much anymore. Viv was worried for him and your mother. Sad and confused. She felt alone.”
Kit bit her lip and turned her head. Wind whistled through the screen again, spilling her hair over her shoulders. She pushed it back absently. “She told you that?”
“She didn’t have to,” he said, wincing as he recalled the night Viv had knocked on the front door of his and Nate’s house. It’d been raining that night, she’d walked from Teague Cottage, and her hair and clothes had been drenched when she arrived. She’d stood shivering in the doorway. “I could see how alone and afraid she was.”
“Did she . . . ?” Kit closed her eyes briefly, then looked up at him, a wary expression crossing her face. “Did she come back here at all after she left? To visit my mother? Or check on her?”
Beau fiddled with the nail he held. “A few times in the beginning. But after the first few months, she stopped by only occasionally to check on Mackey and deal with a few odds and ends that Royal hadn’t handled. She and your mother . . . Well, she never gave me specifics, but they weren’t getting along well at all.” He turned his head and studied the darkening sky, then positioned the nail he held against an unsecured corner of a board. “Your dad was right. We better speed this up if we’re going to have a chance of finishing before dark. If you’ll keep working in there, I’ll—”
“Head back to the farm while I take over.”
Kit froze, her gaze moving beyond Beau. He glanced down to find Viv standing in the same spot Mackey had vacated, hands on her hips and a stoic expression on her face.
