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“Pretty, eh?” Dad asked, stepping up beside me, the sweet smell of pipe smoke clinging to his clothing. “Fella down at the tip makes them. Calls himself a ceramist. I thought folks that played with clay were potters.”
“Times and terms do change,” I whispered as I ran my fingers over the textured ceramic.
“Ayup,” Dad murmured. I glanced his way and caught his eye. The same dark brown eyes that I had. People always said that there was no denying I was Marcus Kesside’s boy. “Elias, I know this is hard for you…”
He paused when a young couple—maybe early thirties—exited their room. They both gaped at me. Fuck. I’d not put my shades back on after leaving the car. Not that people didn’t know me, even with sunglasses and a hat.
“Oh wow, you’re Elias Lake,” the fellow said as if he were speaking to the Pope. I smiled and shook his hand. Dad stood there with my bag, beaming with pride, as I did my best to be polite and not engage too deeply. “I have seen every one of your movies. That last one where Connor Days tracked down those terrorists who were trafficking young women was amazing. That scene where Connor used only a box cutter to—”
His wife shuddered. “He loves your films.” And she didn’t. I got that a lot from women. “Are you here trying to shuck the media after that…well, that news about you?”
“I would have never pegged you as being queer,” the guy said. I bristled a bit inside.
“Did you folks need anything?” Dad interjected. They soon moved on, casting looks back at me as they whispered to each other. “Sorry about that, Son.”
“It’s fine. There was no way to keep it a secret for long.” I sighed as we padded down the hall to the last room. Dad opened the door to the suite, and I stepped inside. French doors on the other side of the room had been opened and Kesside Bay sat right out there, looking as if I could reach out and touch the foamy brine lapping at the slate gray rocks. Several boats sat moored out in the water. People were walking along our dock, which had canoes that guests could use. Pine trees rose up along the shore, tall and spindly, some looking as if last winter’s gales had lashed them strongly. Yet, no matter the weather, they still stood strong. There was probably a lesson to be learned from the mighty pines.
“I can gather the guests at dinner and ask them to keep your presence here a secret,” he offered as he placed my suitcase on the wide king bed. The blue covering was a light summer blanket. Several throw pillows with crabs adorned the bed, tucked among four fat sleeping pillows. A TV was hidden in a tall corner cupboard and an upholstered chair sat in the opposite corner facing a window. The carpet was thick, silencing our steps. To the right, next to the front door, was the bathroom. If memory served the towels were white with blue trim and the shower curtain had a seaside motif complete with a lighthouse. Tell me you’re in Maine without telling me you’re in Maine.
I walked out to the patio. Dad followed. Each room had a small patio with a squat table and two chairs. Thankfully, the patios were separated with clapboard walls for privacy.
“That’s kind of you, but there’s no point,” I said as I leaned my elbows on the railing and breathed in the sea. “The best we can hope for is that Portman won’t allow anyone he doesn’t know onto the island.”
“Which he does far too often,” Dad said with a chuckle. He walked up to stand beside me. My gaze fell on a small skiff with two people heading out to sea. The bay opened up to the ocean just a few hundred feet from our dock, so residents and summer visitors were constantly heading out to sea to fish, sail, swim, or just enjoy the water. Some ducked into the jetty to linger or picnic. I smiled softly. “Elias, I know now isn’t the time, as this is a conversation that needs more than a passing nod, but I just want you to know that you are always welcome here. No matter who you date or what kind of clothes you wear. You’re my only child.”
He gave my shoulder a squeeze. My vision grew blurry, the boats bobbing on the bay muzzy as tears once again welled up.
“I know. I’m sorry I haven’t been home in so long. It’s…thank you. I’m so tired. Can we talk later?”
“Of course. You take a nap. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m sure this will die down soon. I just need some time away.”
“I know, Son.” He patted my arm and then left me to my own means. I stood there staring out at the sea for a long time, trying to recall exactly why I had despised this island so much. The air was so clean here, the sky so blue. Giving up for the moment, I went inside, closed and locked the French doors, took a piss, and fell into bed. The afternoon sun falling over the foot of the bed didn’t keep me awake. My heart and mind were so exhausted that I slept through dinner.
When I woke, it was five in the morning. My mouth tasted like I’d been sucking on the bottom of one of our rental canoes. Rolling to my back, I sat up slowly, shoving the small crab pillow I’d been sleeping on aside. My clothes were tangled around me. Rising from the bed, I peeled off my shirt and socks, took a piss, and grabbed some bottled water out of the tiny fridge. I made a cup of coffee in the room, then made my way to the patio, barefooted, and threw one of the doors open. The sun was peeking over the horizon. Pinks, purples, and a hint of blue were painted over the sky, the peaceful waters reflecting the colors onto the moored boats. The tide was slowly coming back into the bay, covering up the shiny rocks coated with seaweed.
I took a tentative sip of my coffee. The green lawn below the patio was thick with dew. None of the guests seemed to be awake yet as there was only the gentle whisper of wind and the ever-present roll of the tide. Not even the seagulls were awake. It felt as if I were the only man on the planet. The soles of my feet were damp. My sight moved from the empty pool to the games corner where guests could play lawn games. There were giant checkers, cornhole boards, ring toss, horseshoes, and croquet. The staff had cleaned up things last night while the guests had been sleeping. The faintest trace of red glowing embers in the outdoor fire pit could be seen, and the redwood chairs around the pit had been rearranged. All was ready for another day of fun in the sun for the tourists.
Knowing this would be the only time I could probably spend without people gaping at me, I tossed the dregs of my coffee into the trash, changed into running shorts and a tank top, and dressed my feet. Katy was right. I could not simply let myself go. I had to believe that the studio would back me on this life twist. And if they did, I couldn’t be a blob when I showed up on the set. Also, I enjoyed running. It gave me a high and right now I could use those endorphins.
Tucking my key card into the back pocket of my shorts with my cell phone, I quietly snuck down the stairs and past the check-in desk. There was a sign that said someone would be available at the desk at eight a.m. but in case of emergency…
Several numbers were listed, including my father’s private line. The man gave this place his all, there was no denying that. Slipping out the front door, I thought I smelled bacon in the air. Probably that was the kitchen staff getting ready for another buffet breakfast.
My stomach rumbled at the thought of food. I’d not eaten since my flight to Bangor, and that had been a light meal on the plane. Most of which I had left untouched because yuck airplane food. I’d get a few miles in, then sneak into the kitchen to see if I could pilfer some fresh baked goods and oatmeal from Emelda. She’d always been an easy mark when I was a kid. That she was still here slaving away in that tiny kitchen made me shake my head. Why was she not retired? Why was my father not taking it easy now?
Too many questions that I had no answer to. Bending down to touch my toes and stretch, I set off at a slow pace, jogging down to the head of the driveway and then taking the left that would lead to the island’s tip if I went that far. I doubted I would. That was a big run, eight miles one way, and I wasn’t feeling up to that long of a run. Nothing was moving on the island other than the flitter of tiny birds waking up with the sun. I ran along the side of the road, the slap-slap-slap of my running shoes along the blacktop seeping into my psyche. Sweat started to bead up as I jogged past thick stands of red and white spruce and some larch. Birdsong grew louder as did the ocean as I neared the jetty. Slowing down, I veered off the road and down a well-worn path through the trees, stepping out into the new sun as the tide crept back into Phillippe’s Point.
Casting glances at the sleepy cabins, I kept myself on the public path until I was standing on the rocky slope overlooking the Atlantic. The sea swept in gently, lapping at the mossy rocks. I dropped down to sit, sweat making my shirt cling to my back, and just let the call of the sea work its way into my harried soul. It sounded so much better now than it had when I was a teenager. More like a soothing sonnet than a death knoll.
Funny how that happened sometimes…
Chapter Four
Ittookmefourdays to find time to talk to my father alone.
Part of that was on him as he was always working. Even when he wasn’t supposed to be, something or someone needed him. The staff—small as it was—always had things that only the owner could fix, reply to, or handle. Which was part of the joy of being the owner.
