“She went without you.”
“I know, and she spent a shitload of money to show me just how mad she was about that, too.” Tag chuckled softly, then sobered a bit. “Life is short, Ryan, and I’m starting to realize that I wasn’t that great of a husband. I guess I wasn’t that great of a father, either.”
More crazy talk. Crazy, crazy talk. “Of course you were a great father. Do you think we’d all be working with you now if we felt otherwise? Would I be sitting here arguing with you about retiring if I wanted to stop working together?” Seriously, what the hell was his dad talking about?
“I’m glad to hear you say that, son, but I sort of dragged you into the business. I don’t remember ever really asking any of you boys what you wanted. I just assumed if I was having fun, you must be having fun.”
“We were having fun. We’re still having fun. I love my job.”
“But if you gave it up tomorrow, what would you have?” Tag’s face was earnest, and his question stumped Ryan into a momentary silence.
After a pause, Ryan said, “Give it up? Why would I do that?”
“Just try to imagine it. What else have you got in your life besides your job? When’s the last time you had a really good, meaningful conversation with someone that didn’t revolve around the job? Or more importantly, when’s the last time you had a truly healthy, satisfying relationship with a woman?”
More gut churning. “Are we back on that birds and the bees stuff, Dad? Because I think that bell’s been rung.”
Tag shook his head. “I’m not talking about great sex. Although great sex is, well, you know. Great sex.”
Ryan took a moment to wonder what those bucket cakes were going to look like when he upchucked them back onto the table. Meanwhile, his dad kept on talking.
“I’m talking about something meaningful to your soul. Something . . . spiritual.”
“Spiritual? Dad, what the hell did they do to you down at that Catholic church?”
Tag laughed again. “Not that kind of spiritual. I just mean, you know, deep. I don’t know how to explain it if you haven’t felt it yourself. I did have that with your mother for nearly all of our marriage. There were a few times when it got rough, but we always worked through it, mostly thanks to her. We understood each other. We were a team. Have you ever had that with a woman, where you look at something and you see exactly the same thing?”
“I don’t know, Dad. You’re talking in circles here. I think all that hiking has given you altitude sickness. You didn’t ever fall down on one of those nature walks, did you? Maybe lose consciousness for a few minutes?”
His father smiled broadly. “You think I had a stroke out there in the woods?”
“Maybe. All I know is you’ve gone completely off the reservation here, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Nothing. Just enjoy your breakfast. Enjoy your time here. Let yourself relax, and you’ll start to see why I like it here so much. Trust me.”
Nothing good ever happened after someone said trust me. Ryan took a deep breath and wondered if this place served alcohol because he could use a shot of Jack Daniel’s right about now. “Dad, Bryce and Jack expect me to talk some sense into you and to convince you to finish up your project on this island and come back home to Sacramento. What the hell am I supposed to tell them?”
Tag took a slow sip of coffee, staring at Ryan for a moment. “Tell you what, son. You brought some vacation clothes, right? Some shorts and some T-shirts? Some comfortable shoes?”
Ryan had brought a couple pairs of basketball shorts to wear in case he found time to go for a run and a handful of white T-shirts to go under his dress shirts. He’d been planning on working for most of his stay. “Technically, sort of. I have running shoes.”
“Okay, we’re going to go to the store right now and get you some good hiking boots. Then we’ll head out and hike to the top of Bent Rock. It’s a good workout, and it’s the best view of Petoskey Bridge on the entire island. You’re going to enjoy it, I promise. The Lilac Festival starts this weekend. They tell me that’s a big deal around here, so we’ll go to that, and the next day, we’ll go for a bike ride around the entire island. It only takes a couple of hours. Or we could go see Fort Beaumont. We’ll do all the stuff I should have done with you when you were a kid, and I’m confident that if you let yourself relax, you’ll come to understand what I like about this place.”
“You’re not going to make me square-dance, are you? I think I really have to draw the line here someplace.” If his dad tried to make him wear a cowboy hat or cowboy boots, well, that just wasn’t going to happen. No amount of concern over his father’s welfare was going to prompt Ryan to promenade.
“I will not force you to square-dance, but I might strongly encourage you to give it a try.”
Holy shit. His dad really had cracked under the pressure if square dancing and something called a Lilac Festival could get him so excited. Ryan needed to think. He needed to strategize, but his only hope for the moment was to go through the motions. If necessary, he’d go hiking and biking and humor Tag until he came to his senses of his own accord. It couldn’t take that much longer. Maybe his father hadn’t gotten bored in the month he’d been here, but eventually he’d miss the thrill and the satisfaction of work. He’d miss negotiating the deal and the sense of accomplishment that accompanies a job well done. He’d miss the corner office looking out over his city.
And hopefully that shiny new woman would lose her luster, too, because she seemed to be the thing that really had him confused. But what could they possibly have in common? She’d grown up on this tiny island. Realistically, how long could you talk about how majestic a bird was? This was all just a phase, some sort of grief-triggered existential crisis. His dad would get over it, and life would go back to normal. Ryan needed to make sure of it.
Chapter 5
Like nearly every house on Ojibwa Boulevard, Brooke Callaghan’s was surrounded by a white picket fence. Purple lilac bushes bloomed nearby, and the front stone path was lined with pink and white petunias. The whole place had a sweet, welcoming quality. Emily’s older sister? Slightly less so.
It’s not that Brooke was unfriendly. She was just frugal with her displays of affection. At thirty-five, she was only four years older than Emily, but somehow the age gap had always felt wider. Probably because it was Brooke who stepped up and took care of the house after their mother died. No one had asked her to or expected her to. She just did it because it needed to be done. She’d often been the cushion between Emily and Harlan, too. She still was. In fact, if it weren’t for Brooke, they probably wouldn’t be speaking at all.