Iris Page 8

  From the corner of his eye he could see Iris swallowing a laugh. “Maybe it’s not that bad.”

  “I’d rather ride in the Jeep.” Emily looked to Fiona. “Or walk with you.”

  “Maybe,” Fiona started, her cheeks pulling back in a smile as she spoke, “it could be fun to give it all a try?”

  This time Emily didn’t seem so sure. She looked from Fiona to her brother to Iris and over to him then back again.

  “Do you like riding in boats?” he asked.

  The little girl nodded.

  “And cars?”

  “I’ve never been in a Jeep.”

  He suspected she didn’t truly understand what the General’s Jeep was, but that was okay. “How about we go for a ride in a boat this morning? We’ll take it over to the One Stop and buy some fishing poles from Ms. O’Leary, and if you don’t want to fish, you’ll at least have a nice ride. Then later today we can see about that ride in a Jeep.”

  She seemed to consider his words a few minutes, glanced toward Fiona who was nodding slightly, and meekly muttered, “Okay.”

  Not the start of a bond-building experience he’d hoped for, but at least he knew how to fish.

  ***

  “You’re doing what?” Cindy set the dirty dishes she carried down next to the sink.

  “Going fishing.” Iris still wasn’t too sure how she got talked into this one, but it was her or Grams, and before she could answer yay or nay, Grams was off on a walk with the General.

  Poppy carried in more dirty dishes from the dining room. “You’re not kidding?”

  “How different can it be from riding on the lake or going waterskiing?” Iris grabbed one of the oversized aprons hanging on the wall. “I’ll sit on the boat, encourage the children, and if push comes to shove, I’ll help drop a fish in the basket or cooler or whatever it is they keep them in.”

  Poppy and Cindy glanced at each other. Iris wasn’t sure who had the bigger smirk.

  “Oh, for heaven sakes,” Lucy tied her apron behind her back, “all she has to do is catch them. I’m the one who gets to clean them, debone them, and cook them. I don’t see where the problem is.” Shaking her head, she shifted the dirty dishes into sudsy water. “Besides, if you’re any good at it, Margaret Benson’s oldest son just moved back to Lawford. I understand he’s quite the fisherman.”

  Iris felt all the blood rush from her head to her toes. Matchmaking words from Lucy were grounds for ducking and taking cover at Hart House. The woman had yet to match up two people who actually liked each other, never mind were meant to be together. “I’m sure this is going to be a one time thing, Lucy. I like my fish sautéed in butter with lemon, not on a hook.”

  Cindy sidled up to her and grabbed the apron out of her hand, then leaned in speaking softly. “I suggest you skedaddle before you give Lucy any more ideas.”

  “Bless you,” Iris whispered back, and with a quick wave goodbye, hurried out of the kitchen praying that when it came to Lucy and matchmaking, out of sight would mean out of mind.

  Glancing at her watch, she debated if she needed to change into something a little warmer for being on the lake, or if she should stop at Eric’s cabin to see how he was doing getting the kids ready. The decision was made for her when the red door opened.

  “We’re ready,” Emily announced. “Uncle Eric said I can pick out any candy I want at the One Stop to take on the ride.”

  So apparently the man had discovered the benefits of outright bribery when needing a child to cooperate. “He did, huh?”

  Behind Emily’s back, Eric shrugged.

  Emily’s head bobbed. “He says having the right food for the people in the boat is as important as the right food for the fish in the water.”

  “Makes sense,” she answered Emily, but looked to Eric who shrugged again.

  Gavin stayed close to his uncle’s side, clutching his little backpack to his chest. He seemed to be growing more dependant on the thing rather than needing it less as he adapted to his new surroundings.

  “Want me to carry that for you?” she asked.

  Instead of handing it over, his grip tightened and his head rattled roughly from side to side. “No.”

  “No what?” Eric coached from behind.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Good job.” Eric patted the boy’s shoulder, unaware of Gavin’s growing attachment to his Cheetah. Or at least not letting on. “The General arranged with the marina to leave us a boat parked at the One Stop.”

  “Then we’re all set.” Taking hold of Emily’s hand, she helped load the kids and then herself into the car. A fishing she was going. Who’d have thunk?

  In no time at all, they pulled into the parking lot at the One Stop. Eric perused the dock and the sleek red boat tied to it. Nodding his head, he ushered the kids quietly inside.

  “Well, now.” Katie O’Leary smiled from behind the cash register. “Isn’t this a pleasant early morning surprise.”

  “We thought we’d try our hands at fishing,” Eric responded.

  “Oh, it’s a glorious day for being out on the water. Would you be the one Bobby left the boat at my dock for?”

  “We would.”

  Katie nodded. “Well, you’ll be needing plenty of snacks and refreshing drinks. This time of year, the fish are slow to bite. Unless…” She looked over her shoulder as if there had been somebody else in the store who might overhear, and whispered, “Morton’s Cove.”

  If Iris remembered correctly, Morton’s Cove was clear across the lake, tucked away from the main boat traffic. “Is that the inlet just past the Carter property?”

  “It is. You’ll have to turn the motor off and float your way in so you don’t scare away the few fish that are around, but if you do you’ll have fresh fish for dinner tonight.”

  “Dinner?” Gavin looked up at Katie. “We have to eat it?”

  Smiling, Katie squatted to Gavin’s level. “Just like the olden days when strong men hunted for food, fisherman fish for food. Best fish you’ll ever eat comes from our lake.”

  Gavin didn’t say a word and Emily’s face contorted the same way it had when Eric had first mentioned fishing.

  “Of course,” Katie continued, “the best part is the homemade ice cream for dessert. It’s a rule, you know.”

  Gavin shook his head. Whether because he didn’t know or didn’t agree, Iris wasn’t sure.

  “Yes sir, anyone who has fresh lake fish for dinner gets ice cream for dessert. Extra scoop too.”

  And with that extra little bribe, both kids were on board. Katie packed a cooler full of fresh juices and snacks, ranging from popcorn to carrot sticks—though Iris was pretty sure the donut holes were going to be very popular—and with new fishing poles and bait in hand, sent them on their way.

  If only all of life’s challenges could be solved with an extra scoop of ice cream.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You look awfully lost in thought this morning.” Over the decades, Fiona had learned to read the many moods of her complex husband. This morning’s was proving a bit challenging for her. “Is it this month’s appointment? Something you don’t know how to tell me?”

  He smiled and patted the hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. “Nothing like that.”

  “The girls?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Ah. Then it has to be the children. So sad.”

  He nodded. “I know they’ve not even been here a week, but I had hoped to see some sign of progress.”

  “Oh, Harold. Even boot camp takes weeks to turn your boys into Marines. You can’t fix a broken heart in a few days. Not even our lake can do that.”

  “I know. But still…”

  In so many ways, the General was as much a hopeless romantic as a hard-core Marine. The man wanted everybody to live happily ever after. From the dogs they loved, to the animals Cindy rescued, to their friends and neighbors, their guests, and especially their granddaughters. She could see the light in his eyes brighten as e
ach of their granddaughters found the perfect match. But the heartbreaking situation with Emily and Gavin was clearly weighing heavily on her husband, and this time she didn’t have a clue how to make any of it better.

  ***

  Doing as Katie had suggested, they floated along the cove until Eric found a spot he liked enough to drop anchor. The way he looked about and lifted his nose to the air, it almost looked as though he were a Bloodhound sniffing out the fish. “This looks like as good a spot as any.”

  “Spot for what?” Emily looked around.

  “Fishing.”

  “Are we really going to have to eat fish?” Gavin asked.

  “That depends. A lot of time the fun of fishing is in catching the fish. Often we do what’s called catch and release. After they get hooked, we toss them back in the water.”

  “Why catch them if you’re going to give them back?” Emily asked.

  A perfectly reasonable question, Eric was especially glad that Emily was involved enough to have asked. The thing was how do you explain to a six-year-old about endorphins or adrenaline? He’d often compared the rush of excitement when the fish takes the bait as the feeling a person gets when they hit a bonus spin on a slot machine. Except his niece and nephew were no more likely to understand gambling than they were the thrill of man against nature.

  “The other day, when Mrs. Hart taught you to play jacks?”

  Emily nodded.

  “How fun was it when you scooped up the jack?”

  The corners of her mouth tipped up. “Very.”

  “And how did you feel when you were able to scoop up more jacks with each bounce of the ball?”

  This time her lips tipped upward in a solid smile. “Happy.”

  “Well,” he hefted a lazy shoulder, “it’s the same thing. I calculate where to stop the boat, what to put on the hook, just enough tension on the line so I don’t lose the fish if he bites, and then when I pull him into the boat, I feel as happy as if I’d picked up a whole bunch of jacks on one bounce.”

  The explanation seemed to make sense to Emily as her head continued to bob.

  “So, the same way you toss the jacks back on the ground to try again, sometimes we toss the fish back in the water to try again.”

  “But I don’t ever eat the jacks.” Her nose wrinkled. “I guess that’s the big difference.”

  Eric couldn’t help but smile. “Yes. A very big difference.”

  Based on the crinkled nose, he was pretty sure Emily was not going to want to put the bait on the hook. Carefully doing it for her, he set her rod aside and looked to Iris. She’d been quiet most of the ride and he wondered what she must be thinking. “You want to bait your own hook?”

  She took a second to look over the bait and then glanced over the side of the boat. “No, thanks.”

  “No problem.” Prepping her rod, he didn’t notice her studying him until he handed it over to her.

  “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”

  “I’d forgotten how much.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve been fishing?”

  “Too long. I was about six or so when my dad tossed some bagel over the side of the boat and I watched the catfish swim to the surface and gobble it up. Next time we put it on a hook. That’s when I caught my first fish. You might say I was hooked.”

  “Why don’t we use bagels?” Gavin asked.

  “We could, but this should work better.” Now he had Gavin’s interest too. So far so good. Not until this moment did he realize just how badly he wanted to be able to relate to them over anything other than the loss of their mom and dad.

  “Bagels I might be willing to touch,” Iris teased, making him smile.

  The woman was amazing, putting her life on hold to help him. Well, she was probably doing it more for the kids than for him, but still, she was smart, thoughtful, kind and damn pretty. What might it take for her to fall for him hook, line, and sinker?

  ***

  For the first time since meeting Eric Johnson, Iris got the feeling she was finally seeing him in his element. The man moved swiftly, with confidence. Not once did she see any signs of doubt, or confusion, or that stunned look that so often appeared on his face at the discovery of some new aspect of childrearing that he knew nothing about. He even seemed to stand a few inches taller. She liked this side of Eric Johnson, and wouldn’t mind the chance to get to know the real him a little better.

  “All right.” He flashed two thumbs up to no one in particular. “I think we’re ready to go. Gavin, why don’t you let us move your backpack to someplace more protected where it won’t get wet?”

  No surprise to Iris, the little boy pressed the cheetah backpack more closely to his chest.

  “You won’t be able to hold the fishing pole if you don’t let go of your backpack.” Eric reasoned with his nephew.

  “Sure I can.” Letting go of his grip with one hand, he reached for the nearby pole, accidentally dropping the bag to the floor.

  The bag fell closest to Iris. Without thinking, she leaned forward and picked it up, stunned by the weight. “My goodness. What have you got in here?”

  The little boy scrambled to reach for the plush backpack but his sister beat him to it, reaching in the bag and knocking a few items onto the floor. Much to Iris’s surprise, a stash of cookies from Hart House fell onto the floor of the small boat. After the cookies tumbled one of the rocks they’d painted with Grams and Sarge’s sloppy tennis ball.

  Emily snatched the pack close before Gavin could get to it.

  “Give me that.” Gavin lunged toward the cheetah in his sister’s hands. “That’s mine.”

  Holding the bag just out of Gavin’s reach, Emily stuck her hand inside and pulled out a Berenstein Bears book.

  Gavin’s lower lip trembled as he stretched closer to the bag and whimpered, “That’s mine.”

  As quiet and sad as they often appeared, this was the first time Iris had seen the near emotional collapse of the two children as they fought a tug-of-war over his precious cheetah.

  Eyes wide, Eric spun about to step between the two. “What’s this all about?”

  “She has my Cheetah.” Gavin pointed, failing to hold back the droplets of water pooling in his eyes. “It’s mine.”

  “That’s Sarge’s ball,” Emily countered. “And the painted rocks are supposed to stay at Ms. Fiona’s.”

  Suddenly things were starting to add up and Iris didn’t like it. If she didn’t miss her mark, Gavin was collecting things that mattered to him. Things he wanted to control. That wouldn’t be taken away from him like his mom and dad. Oh hell.

  Eric held the bag of cookies in his hand and the crevice at the bridge of his nose deepened. She had the feeling he was coming to the same conclusions she’d just reached. Slowly he lowered himself and leaned back on his heels. “Hey, buddy. Do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

  The tone in his voice had lowered softer than Iris had ever heard him speak. Yep, he had definitely figured it out.

  Gavin shook his head. “I want my Cheetah.”

  Extending his arm toward his niece, Eric sucked in a deep breath. “Let me have the bag please.”

  Emily seemed to think twice about it and Gavin lunged once again in her direction, this time bumping into his sister. Almost toppling her over the side, her grip loosened and the precious Cheetah splashed into the murky water.

  “Cheetah!” Gavin cried loudly before falling into a crumpled ball, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Steadying Emily on her seat, Eric spun about and scooped Gavin into his arms and carried him in one large step to Iris. “See if you can calm him down. I’ll be right back.”

  All she’d had time to do was wrap her arms around the tearful little boy when Eric kicked off his shoes and dove over the side, taking Iris’s breath with him.

  Emily leaned over. “Uncle Eric!”

  “It’s okay,” Iris said as calmly as she could manage in her own frenzied state. What the hell was he doing?
That water was like ice still. “I’m sure he’s going to grab the bag and be up in a minute.”

  Her words snapped Gavin’s head up from her shoulder and even helped slow the sobs to gulping breaths. With the back of his hand the little boy swiped at his watery cheeks, his chest heaving in and out, his eyes fixed on the water.

  Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the water. How many seconds could the average adult male hold his breath? How long for hypothermia to be a problem? How long had he been under?

  Iris said her prayers and fumbled for her phone, all the while staying focused on the small bubbles of air. Until there were none. Oh, hell.

  Chapter Twelve

  Damn, the water was cold as a polar bear’s pool. Unable to see past his fingers, Eric waved his arms, hoping the weighted bag wasn’t dropping any faster than he was. Kicking his feet, pushing as deep as he dared, he slashed at the water again.

  Bingo. His fingers caught on something soft and he prayed it was his nephew’s prized possession. Blowing out his last bit of air, he propelled himself upward until he broke the water line, sucked in a deep breath of fresh air and took a good look at Cheetah dangling from his fingers.

  “Oh my God,” Iris yelled. “Are you okay?”

  “Could be better.” Lunging forward, he swam the short distance to Iris and the kids, tossed Cheetah into the boat and levered himself over after it. “The waters of Antarctica might be warmer.”

  “He’s safe. For now. I’m bringing the boat back. We’ll need some blankets and hot liquids,” Iris said.

  Whipping his wet shirt off, it took him a moment to realize Iris was on the phone. “I’m okay. The sun will warm me up.”

  “The sun isn’t that hot,” she barked back, rummaging through the bench storage. “They should have blankets in here.”

  Eric pushed to his feet and crossed to lift anchor. He might not be on death’s doorstep, but she was right about one thing, he needed to warm up a helluva lot more than the late spring sun could do for him.