Marta Perry - The Guardian's Honor

He was shaking his head when Adam held out his own watch.

“I have one, too. The family still gives them as an eighteenth-birthday gift.”

Grandpa stared at it for a moment. Then he stumped over to his rocking chair and sat down heavily, the red color slowly fading out of his face, leaving it pale and set.

“All right, all right. Since you’re bound and determined to have it out, I was born Edward Bodine. But I haven’t been that man in years, and I don’t reckon to start now.”

The capitulation left her weak in the knees, and she sat down on the sofa, not sure what would come next.

Grandpa stared at Adam, as if seeking some resemblance. “Your grandfather was my little brother. He still alive?”

“No, sir. He died ten years ago of a stroke. Miz Callie’s still going strong, though. He married Callie McFarland. You remember her?”

“Little Callie.” Her grandfather seemed to look back through the years, and for the first time she saw some softening in his expression. “’Course I remember her. Lived near us on the island, always in and out of the house. So she and Richmond got hitched.”

Adam came cautiously to take a seat next to her, apparently feeling he wasn’t going to get thrown out at the moment. “Richmond and Callie had three boys. My father is the oldest.”

“And you’d be his oldest boy, I s’pose.”

Adam blinked. “How did you know that?”

“Oldest sons have that look of responsibility on them.” His face tightened a little. “I did. You in the service?”

“Coast Guard. Lieutenant. I’m running a patrol boat out of Coast Guard Base Charleston right now.”

So she’d been right about the military look of him. Despite that easygoing smile, he was probably one who could take command when he needed to.

“Family tradition.” Grandpa’s lips twisted. “Your great-granddaddy would be right proud of you. He never was of me. Called me a coward, said I was a disgrace to the family name. So I figured I didn’t need to use it any more.”

The bitterness that laced his voice appalled her. How could he still carry so much anger toward someone who was long dead?

She glanced at Adam, to see that he looked taken aback as well.

“It’s been a long time, Grandpa.” She said the words softly. “Adam and his people didn’t have anything to do with the quarrel you had with your father.”

“They’re his kin,” he flared.

“And yours,” Adam said. “Miz Callie is the one who was determined to find out what happened to you. She remembers so much about that last summer on the island—about how you took her and Richmond fishing and shrimping, how patient you were with them.”

His face eased a little. “They were good kids, I’ll say that. Always listened.”

“You had some friends there, too. Boys you hung around with in the summer, Miz Callie says. There’s a picture of a bunch of you together.”

“Timmy Allen and Phil Yancey, I s’pose. And Benny Adams. I haven’t thought of them in years. All dead now, I reckon.”

“Not Mr. Adams. My sister talked to him just a few weeks ago, once we found out you were still alive. He said to tell you to come see him.”

“Benny always was tough, for all he was the shortest one of the bunch.” The hand Grandpa raised to his eyes trembled a little, and he wiped away tears.

Her heart twisted. He hadn’t wept since Grandma’s death. He was softening toward Adam. If only…

“Why don’t y’all come back to Charleston with me?” Adam said. “The family there would surely like to get to know you.”

Grandpa shook his head. “What’s the point in reliving the past? I don’t go where I’m not wanted.”

“Please,” she murmured, barely aware that it was a prayer. Then, more boldly, she said, “The rest of the family would like to meet you, Grandpa. They didn’t have anything to do with the quarrel.”

She leaned toward him, intent on making him agree to this. Didn’t he see? It was a chance for Jamie. Once they got to Charleston, anything could happen. There were specialists there, even a medical university. The family might feel obligated to help.

If not, well, she could talk to a lawyer, even, to see if Grandpa was entitled to some part of his father’s estate.

“Miz Callie’s going to be disappointed in me if I come back without you,” Adam said. “She has her heart set on seeing you again. She’s always believed in you.”

Grandpa weakened a little; she could see it in his eyes, even though he was still shaking his head.

“Are we goin’ someplace, Grandpa?” Jamie, drawn by their voices, poked his head in from the kitchen. “I want to go someplace.”

“We might go to Charleston, sugar,” she said. That was playing dirty, involving Jamie, but at this point she’d do whatever it took. “You could see the beach. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“I want to go.” He hurried across the room as fast as his braces would allow, fetching up against his grandfather’s knees. “Please, let’s go. I want to see the beach.”

Grandpa stroked Jamie’s silky hair, his hand not quite steady. “Well, I guess maybe there’s no harm in going to see the place.” He looked at Adam then, “I’m not saying I’ll go back to being part of the family, mind, so don’t you go getting any ideas. But I guess we can go for a visit, seein’ it means so much to the boy.”

Cathy exhaled slowly, afraid even to move for fear he’d change his mind. But he wouldn’t do that, not once he’d told Jamie.

Her gaze met Adam’s, and she smiled. They’d done it.

Adam shot upright in bed, his heart thudding, wet with perspiration. Disoriented for a moment, until he remembered that he was spending the night at the Hawkins place so they could make an early start in the morning.

Checking his watch, he let the routine movement calm him. Two in the morning. Definitely too early to get up, but his heart still pounded and his nerves jumped, demanding that he move.

It had been the dream. Fragments of it this time, not the whole, inevitable sequence of events he sometimes replayed for himself. In this one, he’d seen the smugglers’ boat, black and shining in the sunlight that dazzled his eyes. He’d seen his hands, the right hand clutching his weapon at the ready, heard himself give the command to fire the warning shot.

Then the boat swamping, people tumbling into the water, reaching for the boy, seeing the look of silent suffering, the mother’s anguish as she held him. The blood.

He must have jerked himself awake at that point, overwhelmed with guilt. The guilt was always there, but kept constantly under control. Only his dreams loosed it, like a beast ready to devour him.

Running both hands through his damp hair, he clutched the back of his neck. Hot in here—maybe that was what had triggered the dream. It had been hot that day, too, but cooler once the patrol boat was out on the ocean.

A breath of jasmine-scented air touched her face. No use trying to go back to bed right away. He’d go to the kitchen, get a drink, maybe walk around a little until his nerves settled.

He padded silently down the stairs, reminding himself that the house’s three occupants slept behind the doors on the first floor. And thinking of them made him realize exactly why he’d dreamed tonight. It wasn’t the heat or the strange bed.

It was Cathy and Jamie. That first glimpse of the boy had done it. He’d seen Cathy bending over her son protectively, seen the look of patient suffering in the boy’s eyes, and he’d been right back there on the water off the Florida Keys.

Reaching the kitchen, he drew a glass of water from the tap. Tepid, but he drained it anyway in a long, thirsty gulp. He set the glass on the counter. Its click was followed by another sound—a creaking board. He turned.