Cynthia Thomason - An Unlikely Father

“You should have told me about your plans to move, though,” Jack said.

“Seems to me I just did.”

“Great.”

Helen broke the uncomfortable tension between the two men with another question. “All right. You’re having the place cleaned. Then what?”

“I’m meeting with a county engineer tomorrow. He’s going to check out the building, make sure it’s structurally safe.” He looked at Jack again. “While Jack was still on Dad’s payroll, he made certain the building was safe as Fort Knox with all the wires and security codes and hidden cameras. I just have to know that a guest won’t fall through the second-story floorboards once we open up.”

“I’ve never even seen the place,” Helen said, thinking she might wrangle an invitation. She wanted to scope out the old building, see how many rooms it had, how many guests and potential customers for her charter business it could accommodate. “It closed before I was born.”

“You’ll have to stop by then,” Ethan said. “How about tomorrow? You might have to dodge clouds of dust, but I’ll be there most all day.”

That was easy. Helen noticed Claire’s suggestive smile and spoke before her friend accepted the invitation for her—one she unfortunately would have to turn down. “Can’t tomorrow. I’ve got two charters, morning and afternoon.”

“Oh. Too bad.”

“What about Sunday?” Claire said. “You don’t have two charters then, do you?”

“Ah, no. Only one in the morning.”

Ethan took a swallow of beer. “Great. Like I said, I’m moving in, so I should be there. I’ll leave the gate open so you can drive in without busting it down.”

Helen snickered and Jack continued to look worried. “Is that such a good idea, Ethan? Leaving the gate open?”

“It is if you’ve seen Helen drive.”

Even Jack laughed at that, and while the men were distracted, Claire kicked Helen under the table. Come over before you go, she mouthed. Helen figured Claire was arranging her first attempt at a Sweeney makeover.

“You’ll have to come to our place for Thanksgiving, Ethan,” Claire said. “Helen and her father will be there. Helen makes the best cranberry-orange relish.”

It was a good thing the pizza hadn’t arrived yet, or Helen would surely have choked on it. Before she could comment on the blatant lie, Ethan’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and stood up. “That’s Dad now. I’ll take this outside.”

As soon as he’d walked away from the table, Helen speared Claire with an accusatory glare. “What did you tell him that for? I can’t make any kind of stupid relish. I can barely fry an egg.”

Claire grinned. “Relax. I’ll make the relish. You’re the one who wants to impress Ethan with the new you. Why not start by at least pretending you can cook?”

Jack looked from one to the other. “What’s going on here?”

Luckily no explanation was necessary because the waiter arrived with two giant chrome pedestals overflowing with pizza crust. Ethan returned in a couple of minutes and sat down.

“Trouble?” Jack asked.

“No. Everything’s okay, but Archie did say something kind of surprising.”

“Oh? What?”

“Claire had just mentioned Helen and her father coming over for Thanksgiving…”

“And?” Jack prompted.

Ethan looked at Helen. “What’s your father’s name?”

“Finn.”

“I thought so. Dad just asked me if I’d run into a guy named Finn Sweeney. I immediately connected the name with yours, of course. How do you suppose my father has heard of Finn?”

Helen set her slice of pizza on a paper plate. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said. “But lately that has been the million-dollar question.”

ETHAN COULDN’T GET his father’s interest in Finn out of his mind. Even after Jack paid the tab and everybody split up to go their separate ways, Ethan still wondered. He followed Helen out of the restaurant. “Do you need a lift home?” he asked.

“No. I drove my truck.”

“Where’d you park? I’ll walk you.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment for just an instant, and he thought she might dismiss his offer. Maybe walking a woman to her car wasn’t such a priority in Heron Point, but Ethan was from Manhattan. Things were different there. And besides, it was early, and he didn’t mind hanging out with her a little longer. Among other possibilities, maybe they could come up with an answer to the Archie-Finn mystery.

“It’s close by,” she said.

He walked beside her down a narrow alley that ended after a couple of blocks at the Gulf. Her vehicle was parked near the corner, close to Island Avenue where the crowds still lingered. A few couples strolled past them heading for the water. When they reached her truck, Helen stopped, leaned against the hood.

“You feel like going a little farther?” Ethan asked, patting his abdomen. “I wouldn’t mind walking off a little of this pizza.”

She stuck her hands in her pockets, hunched her shoulders.

“It’s too cold, isn’t it?” he said, realizing the temperature had dropped since the sun set.

“It’s fine,” she said, pushing away from the truck. “Let’s go.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a minute until he said, “So what do you think is the connection between our fathers?”

“I wish I knew. I can tell you this much, Finn doesn’t seem to like your dad.”

The bluntness of her answer caught Ethan off guard. Nearly everyone in his circle of acquaintances liked Archie—or at least respected him. “That’s odd,” he said. “Do you know why?”

“Haven’t a clue. But Finn will tell me when he’s ready.”

“When might that be?”

“With Finn, you never know. He keeps stuff inside.”

Ethan frowned. Like father, like daughter. He was just thinking that Helen was about as unreadable as a blank page. Deciding he wouldn’t get any more info from her tonight, he changed the subject. “Tell me about your business. Do you run the charter boat by yourself?”

“Basically. But the law requires that every public charter company has at least one mate on board. It’s a good idea. In a typical trip there’s too much work for one person to handle.”

They reached the shore and Ethan looked out at shimmering waves that rolled from a limitless horizon to wash up on the sand. “How far out do you go?” he asked.

“It depends where the fish are. As far as we need to. At least a mile, sometimes five or six.”

“What do you do with the fish you catch?”

“We operate a catch and release boat. None of the fish we bring in can be mounted as trophies. We let the fishermen haul them on board, we take their picture and then release them. If the fish is a good-eating variety, we’ll sometimes bring it home, clean it and sell it to one of the restaurants in town.”

Ethan wouldn’t know one fish from another, but he did enjoy snapper and grouper when it was offered on a menu. “That sounds like a sporting way of doing things,” he said. “So how do all the taxidermists stay in business?”

“We don’t have one in Heron Point, probably because we’re the only charter company in town and wouldn’t send them any customers. We just don’t think it’s the right thing to do.”

She shivered, hugged her elbows close to her sides and pushed her hands deeper into her pockets. A cool wind blew off the Gulf. The temperature away from the protection of the buildings was at least ten degrees colder than on the avenue. Ethan wished he had a jacket to offer her. She couldn’t know that to a New Yorker, this was like a balmy summer night. He wrapped his hands around her arms, rubbed his palms over her skin. “You’re freezing. We’ll go back.”