What We Could Have Been
♦ A NOVEL ♦
JESS SINCLAIR
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Jess Sinclair All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Alcove Press, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Alcove Press and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC. Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-63910-471-0 ISBN (ebook): 978-1-63910-472-7
Cover design by Nicole Lecht
Printed in the United States.
www.alcovepress.com Alcove Press 34 West 27th St., 10th Floor New York, NY 10001
First Edition: October 2023 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Joe, my Enzo from age six at the A&P until the final page
♦ 1 ♦
Blue’s mother was dead. Her pale legs hung limply over her father’s arm as he carried her, his wide shoulders and back rigid. Blue followed her parents home from Enzo Castellari’s house, the midnight sand still warm under her bare feet, shoes left behind in haste. She was afraid to speak. Approaching their cottage, her father shifted his hold on Ella and she cried out, the sound knocking the air from Blue’s chest in her own choked sob. Mum. She’d stood in the bedroom doorway, invisible, while her dad settled her mother in bed, bending to press his cheek against his wife’s.
Years later, her mother’s cry still echoed in her ears whenever the memory jabbed at her, a distorted, incomplete snapshot. Her mum had eventually recovered; they hadn’t lost her, not that night anyway. Standing here now, facing the gray, peeling paint of the door to her childhood home, Bluebelle Shea squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, only to have others tumble forward. Her world had been upended that night she’d trailed along the beach behind her parents, sick with fear, but it was nothing compared to actually losing her mum, and everyone else she loved all at once, two years later.
“Mom?” From behind her on the porch, Murphy’s voice jarred her from her thoughts. “I’m hungry. Do you think Grandpa will have lunch for us?”
Her son’s eyes were so dark they were nearly black, a stark contrast to his sandy blonde hair. He’d put his backpack on before getting out of the minivan. Just to walk from the gravel driveway up the broken front steps to the porch. His stuffed sea turtle Sammy endured the twisting, squeezing motions of his hands in front of him.
She rested a hand lightly atop Murphy’s head, feeling every bit as anxious as he looked. She faked as much grown-up confidence as she could summon. “Well, even if he’s already had his lunch, I’ll make you something. Sound good?”
He ducked away, rolling his eyes. “Okay. Stop.”
Blue dropped her hand to her side. Stuffed turtle or not, nine-year-old Murph kept reminding her he wasn’t a little kid anymore. She’d hoped his attitude would improve on the way here, but so far it hadn’t.
“You have to knock if you want him to know we’re here, Mom.”
She gritted her teeth against a retort she’d regret and knocked. She waited, turning away from the door to gaze out over the blue water beyond the seawall to breathe in the ocean air, that soothing hint of Florida Gulf Coast salt and balmy dampness that marked the beginning of summer in Bliss. The shrimp trawler and the large, center console vessel her dad used to catch mackerel were at the docks, exactly as they had been Blue’s whole life.
“Maybe he forgot we were coming,” Murphy said.
She smoothed a hand over her wavy blonde hair, wishing the cowlick at her left temple would relax; she’d inherited it from her mother. He wouldn’t have forgotten they were coming. She’d phoned and asked to see him, leaving out the fact that all of their worldly belongings were with them because there wasn’t a place for them in Tallahassee anymore. She’d made sure to say she’d be bringing along his grandson. Her dad’s tone over the phone had been gruff and unreadable, but he’d agreed to the visit. Had he already known about Murphy? When Blue ran away ten years ago, a week into her senior year of high school, she’d left without a plan, but had ended up with Aunt Eva, her mum’s sister up in the Florida Panhandle. Eva had hated Mitch Shea. Blue doubted her aunt would’ve told her father anything.
There was no running away now. She knocked again, louder this time, and footsteps sounded somewhere inside the house. Her dad was on the other side of that door, not answering. She took a couple of steps back from the door and nearly fell through a rotted wooden plank. Her arms flailed and Murphy reached out, helping her regain her footing. Blue’s pulse pounded in her temples. This was a mistake.
“I think, um . . . Murph, let’s go. We’ll get a room at that motel we passed before the turn off. I think I saw a pool.” She let her tone rise at the end, trying to make it sound fun.
She’d spent the last few days hearing her own false cheery tone and hating it. Her son hadn’t wanted to leave Tallahassee. He didn’t want to leave his friends or his school, and she didn’t blame him. Brent hadn’t even bothered to argue when she told him she was taking Murphy and going home to her dad’s. She’d thought Murph was upset with both of them for their family falling apart. But on the way here, he’d made it clear he was only mad at Blue. You could’ve let me stay with Dad, he’d said, sullen and sniffling in the back seat after crying for the first hour of the trip. He didn’t mean it. He was hitting her where it hurt because he hurt; even at nine, he had to know on some level that his stepdad didn’t want that.
Mitch Shea opened the door. His ruddy cheeks were flushed under a beard that had grown bushy and gray, though the hair he smoothed a hand over was still dark red. Deep lines were etched between his unkempt brows, pale blue eyes regarding her and then coming to rest on Murphy. “Good Lord,” he uttered.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Bluebelle.” He pushed the screen door open for them and stepped back. “Come in.”
The three of them stood in the small living room, dust floating in the scattered rays of sunlight. Decaying grief gripped her, squeezing her around the chest; everything was exactly as it had been when she’d left. The blanket her mother had knitted lay folded over the back of the couch, same as always, the rich earth tones now faded from the afternoon sun streaming through the curtainless picture window. Ella’s favorite books were still stacked on the end table near the couch. It was as if she’d just stepped out to the store, rather than drowned.
“Christ but you look like your mum,” Mitch said, his normally mild Irish accent heavier than she remembered. He was staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Do I?” she asked. “I hope so . . . Dad, this is Murphy, your grandson. Murph, meet your Grandpa Mitch.” She sucked in air. She stared at her father, wide-eyed. Was he ready for this? Was she?
Mitch looked down at her small son. Blue glimpsed a portion of white fluff emerging from the green cloth of Sammy’s shoulder joint, twisting in the boy’s grasp. Her father extended his hand. “Murphy’s a fine name,” he said, his voice gravelly, as if from disuse. “Good to meet you, son.”
Murph’s hand was completely eclipsed by her father’s. “Hi, Grandpa.”
“Dad. I’m so sorry,” Blue blurted. She reached out, wanting to hug him, wanting him to know this was hard for her too. Something in his expression stopped her. She shoved her hand in her pocket. “I, uh—”
He looked down. “All right.” He turned and walked away from them.
She followed him to the kitchen, the breakfast nook countertop and a million miles between them. Two of the four stools that had occupied this space were gone, and the cushions on the other two were gray and threadbare. Three place settings were arranged on the counter, with paper plates and napkins, a large platter of homemade ham and cheese sandwiches between them. “I thought you might be hungry after the drive.”
“I’m starving!” Murphy climbed onto a stool and plunked Sammy on the counter. “Mom didn’t pack enough car snacks.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Blue said again. “I know they’re just words and they don’t undo me staying gone so long, but I’m just so sorry. When Mum died—”
His hands froze and he met her gaze, his imposing eyebrows scrunched together, narrowing the blue of his eyes to slits. “No.”
“But I—”
“We’re not speaking about that. I won’t.” His words were clipped, sharp.
“Okay,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek. They’d have to talk about it eventually.
Mitch pushed the sandwich plate across the counter to Murphy. “I’ve got water or Coke, which’ll it be?”
“We don’t give him soda,” Blue said reflexively, at the same time Murphy replied, “Coke, please.”
Her father poured a glass of cold water from a pitcher in the refrigerator and set it in front of her son. “I’ll not help you break the rules, son. At least not while your mum’s watching.”
Murphy giggled. Blue caught Mitch tossing a quick wink to her kid. Her eyes flooded with tears, startling her. Maybe this wasn’t a mistake. Maybe it was the first thing she’d done right in a long time.
When they’d finished their sandwiches, Mitch straightened up from his leaning position on the counter. “Why are you here, Bluebelle?”
This was the question she had been dreading. She’d rehearsed what she would say, but now her mind was blank.
Murphy spoke up. “Dad moved out and then Aunt Eva died and Mom says we don’t have anyone anymore. Which isn’t true. I still have lots of friends.”
“Murph—” Blue didn’t bother finishing her sentence. He wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t been happy with Brent, but since he’d left, she’d become acutely aware of how small her and Murphy’s world was. And then the one person she’d always been able to count on—aunt, friend, babysitter, advice giver Eva—had died suddenly of an aneurysm.
“I didn’t know your aunt passed,” Mitch said. “I’m sorry. I know you loved her.”
“Thank you. Um. I’m not sure what Aunt Eva told you?”
“Not much.” Her father’s shoulders slumped, and all at once he looked old, much older than when they’d arrived, so much older than when she’d left. “Eva told me next to nothing. She called me once a year on your mum’s birthday to say you were fine. I don’t know why. I know she blamed me. But—” Mitch exhaled forcefully and braced a hand on the chipped tile of the countertop. “I suppose she called so I’d leave her alone. She got tired of hearing from me, I’m sure.”
Blue’s arms ached to hug him. She moved toward him, the smallest step, but he turned and ran water onto dishes piled up in the sink, adding soap and grabbing a stained dishcloth. She stayed where she was, glancing at Murphy. He’d discovered the long, curly phone cord on the ancient wall-mounted telephone and was winding it around and around his fingers and up his arms. He’d gotten good at tuning out adult conflict in his short life.
She dove in. “Aunt Eva helped me get my GED and then get through the nursing program when Murphy was little. She helped me get a job at the hospital where she worked. My husband, Brent, is filing for divorce. I’ve missed you for a long time, Dad. I wanted to come home. But I didn’t know how.” Her dad’s dishwashing motions had slowed. She kept going, addressing his back. “After Brent moved out, Aunt Eva was the only family we had up there—the only family Murphy knew, besides me. I’ve always wished he could meet you.”
Her dad turned around. He listened, drying his hands on a towel that had once been yellow.
“I don’t think we’re going back,” she said, her words hesitant. “I start my new job tomorrow; I was able to transfer from the county hospital in Tallahassee to Collier County ER. Murph and I can find a motel to stay in for a while, if you want, but maybe we wouldn’t need to? I have enough saved to help with your bills here. If, uh, I don’t know, maybe while we look for a place.”
She winced at her offer. She had a little money left with the vacation time she’d cashed out, but not much. Brent had warned her not to touch their joint account, or his lawyer would—well, his lawyer would do something to her, she didn’t fully understand all the legalities of divorce proceedings. She didn’t have a lawyer.
“You want to stay here? With me?” her dad asked.
She’d never hated her father’s unruly beard before this moment. His expression was completely unreadable. Her heart raced as she tried to steel herself against his rejection, his hurt over her staying away so long manifesting as anger. “If you’d let us.”
He nodded. “All right.” He bent at the waist suddenly, ducking down to peer out the front window over the Gulf to the west. “Getting late, I’ve still got work to do before my shrimp run.”
Murphy jerked to attention, accidentally pulling the handset off the receiver as the cord around his arms moved with him. “What’s a shrimp run? Can I come?”
“No,” Blue answered before her dad could.
Mitch opened the refrigerator and grabbed a soda. “Bluebelle, I—” He stopped, mid-stride toward the back door, looking at her. His brow was furrowed, his expression conflicted. He opened his mouth to say something and then seemed to think better of it. He scowled at the floor and shrugged, as if trying to shake off the emotion she could feel emanating from him. “There’s your old room and the sunroom. Sunroom’s full of boxes and crap. I’ll get it cleared out tonight so one of you can use that.” He walked abruptly through the side door outside, the wooden screen door bouncing against the frame.
Murphy climbed down from his stool and moved around the counter. “Does he have some cookies or chips or something?”
“Let’s see.” Blue went for the refrigerator first, giving in to her curiosity. Sierra had said her dad wasn’t drinking. Her dad had always maintained that the last drink he’d had was two years before losing Ella, despite the Breathalyzer results used against him in the trial. She had never really understood why he’d continued to refute the evidence, even after his conviction. Blue saw that he’d been truthful, at least today: other than the water pitcher and soda, there were no other beverages. No alcohol in sight. She rifled through the narrow pantry, where dry goods and staples were randomly strewn over the shelves. No bottles stashed in here either.
She pulled out a box of Saltines and handed it to her son. “This is as close as you’re gonna get to chips or cookies,” she said, laughing as he wrinkled his nose. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow after work when I pick you up. I promise. We’ll get all kinds of good snacks.” She was on guard, ready for him to complain about having to go to the day camp she’d arranged for him for childcare, but maybe he’d give her a break on that one.
Murphy plucked a cracker from the box. “Grandpa’s kind of crabby.”
She sat on a stool and leaned on the counter. “He’s not usually, I promise. He’s just out of sorts. I’m his only child, just like you’re mine, and it’s been a long time since he’s seen me. But he’s glad we’re here. He likes you. Oh!” Blue arched back as a big gray tabby cat landed on the counter between her and Murphy. “Oh my goodness, Hook,” she said, running a hand over the cat’s back and smiling. “Who’d have thought you’d still be around?”
“He’s gnarly looking, Mom. He’s gotta be old. You had him before you left here? Cats live that long?” He stood a couple of feet back, assessing the cat.
Blue frowned at her son and put her head down as the cat turned around and came back to her, sniffing her hair. Hook had half a left ear, and a long scar ran from the cat’s mouth up to just above his right eye where the fur had never grown back. “Sure, some do. Murphy, meet Hook. He’s nicer than he looks, once he gets to know you. Same as Grandpa,” she said, grinning at her son. “He’d always go out on the fishing boat. He never minded the water. The perks were probably worth it, weren’t they?” She scratched the cat behind one ear, and he purred loudly, leaning into her hand.
“He missed you.”
“I’ve missed him too. Your grandpa found him caught in some wire mesh under a shrimp trap when he was a kitten. He saved him. That’s what the scar is from. He lost a toe off his back foot too,” she said, pointing. “I remember us taking him to the vet so many times at first. He must be seventeen or eighteen now. He’s a tough old guy.”
“He’s kind of cute, in a Halloween-y sort of way,” Murphy said, tipping his head. He put a hand out to pet the cat and the tabby faced him and hissed, teeth bared, ears laid back and tail puffed up. “Dang, cat, okay.” Murphy put his hands up and stepped back.
“He’ll get used to you. He’s like that at first with everyone; he hasn’t changed, apparently.” Blue was suddenly disproportionately sad. This place was just so unwelcoming; when she’d seen Hook, she’d actually thought for a second that it’d be nice for her son to have a cat. He’d never been allowed to before. But then, of course, Hook had to go and act like his jerky self. The cat rubbed against Blue and jumped down off the counter and they heard him let himself out the screen door.
“Can I see my room?” Murph asked.
She and Murphy hadn’t packed a lot into the minivan. She still couldn’t really wrap her head around her marriage being over. In the two months she’d been alone in her house with Murphy, it was often a peaceful feeling, knowing Brent wouldn’t be walking in the door at the end of the day. It hurt to admit that, but it was true. But sometimes, her quiet, peaceful house was glaring proof that she messed up everything she touched. She’d never expected to end up divorced. She’d also never expected to end up pregnant at seventeen, hundreds of miles from home. If she’d known then that she’d be carrying her and her son’s suitcases around the hole in her father’s front porch to move back into her childhood bedroom at the age of twenty-seven, would she have found a way to come home years ago? Would she have ever left?
She thought back to seventeen-year-old Blue, the dreamlike bliss of an afternoon with Enzo Castellari abruptly replaced with sickening dread at seeing two county Sheriff’s Department cruisers pulling into her driveway. Her mum was gone from the world by then, taken by the Coast Guard to Collier County Hospital, where they’d list her time of death as over an hour before she arrived. Ella had gone overboard, tangled in the outrigger lines.
Her dad had been too incoherent with grief that night to explain anything. The sheriff had given up on getting a formal statement from him until the next day and left them reeling in shock. Their neighbor Dale, a deputy for the county and Mitch’s friend, had stayed behind, setting out food for them that got cold and then washing the dishes. Before leaving, he covered a fitfully snoring Mitch up on the couch with Ella’s blanket while Blue stared, unseeing, at the television, promising she’d go to bed soon. She’d ended up in the fairy garden with Enzo at two in the morning instead.
Only twenty-four hours earlier, Blue and Enzo were hanging their legs off the docks as the sun set across the water. Blue tucked one bare foot behind Enzo’s ankle, pushing his leg upward until he swung it back, sliding his much larger foot behind her ankle and flinging Blue’s leg into the air. She’d tipped backward on the dock, laughing. She remembered the feel of the hair on his leg, his muscled calf, the little zings through her skin where their legs touched, stirrings in the pit of her belly that compelled her to touch him, feel his skin on hers, as often as she could, in any way possible. She’d told him she loved him that night on the docks under the moon. He’d promised her his future then, before everything changed.
They’d been friends since they were two. The Castellari family had moved in across the vacant lot next door, and Blue’s mum Ella and Enzo’s mother Sofia had met bringing their toddlers to the beach to play. Bluebelle was Mitch and Ella Shea’s only child, though they had tried for more. Enzo was the firstborn of five boys. The families had quickly become friends, sharing recipes and wine and evenings spent laughing around firepits next door before the vacant land between them was bought by a real estate developer and filled with condos. After that, Blue and Enzo had taken turns cutting across the beachfront between houses to spend evenings and lazy Sunday afternoons together.
Enzo had been her best friend her whole life. But something shifted the summer before high school began. He was still her best friend, still her person, but he was suddenly so much more; they were more. It was as if someone had turned the light on in another room that neither of them knew was there. For a solid year, until the night her dad carried her crying mum home, the dinners and game nights and bonfires between the Sheas and Castellaris had taken on an evolving, exciting new dimension. Enzo shoving a younger brother out of the way so he could be closer to her, Blue pretending to fall asleep with her head on his shoulder—everything became about being together. By the time he kissed her, she’d imagined it so many times in her head, the real thing was startling. Tentative, gentle, wanting. A promise of things to come.
Blue leaned into the minivan in her dad’s driveway and hoisted the heavy plastic bin that held remnants of her life in Tallahassee, Murphy’s baby books, photo albums documenting nine years of birthdays and holidays and vacations with just her and her son at first, and then with her new husband. When Murph was three, she’d married Brent, a police officer with the city who’d persistently asked her out every time he was in the ER until she’d finally gone on a date with him. For six years, he’d been Murphy’s dad; he was in the father–son photos for softball, soccer, Cub Scouts, and had stood by the boy’s side for trophy pictures. He was also the man who’d spat the worst, most hurtful words at his stepson in the midst of their final argument, the day he’d stormed out. Murphy had gotten in the middle, trying to calm them both down. Brent had lashed out: It’s your fault I’m leaving. Your mother raised a brat—I can’t stand being around you. She squeezed her eyes shut now, remembering. Brent had slammed the door so hard the windows shook. The sound of his tires squealing down the street was followed by deafening silence. Murph’s eyes were saucers in his stricken face.
Now, she jerked the heavy bin up, shoving the painful memory behind tonight’s mile-long to-do list, and wrestled it up the walk, careful to avoid tripping on the broken and overgrown paving stones. The whole yard looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years. When they’d pulled in, she’d glimpsed the wild and unkempt backyard, vines climbing the fence and willow branches tangled in ground weeds where her fairy garden used to be.
Murphy came sprinting out and took a side of the bin from her. “Mom, I said I’d be right back out to help with the heavy stuff,” he said.
She watched him struggle with his end in determination to be strong and help her, dropping the bin in the living room and going back for more. He was getting tall already, the way she’d been at his age. As much as she saw him as her baby boy, her son thought he was so grown up. Maybe he felt like he had to be. When Brent left, he’d really left, not just Blue or the marriage but their entire family. She’d thought it would be temporary, he was going through something, he’d change his mind. But her husband’s things were already loaded into the new black Mustang he’d bought himself the week before. Even in the face of the knowledge that he’d been planning this, Blue had argued and begged him to stay, they’d get counseling, she’d do better. Murphy ran down the driveway after his stepdad’s car while Blue stood crying in the front yard. She’d expected him to turn around, at least to say goodbye to Murphy. But he hadn’t. She’d been served the divorce papers two days later.
And she’d come back here with no clue what she was going to do about Enzo. She hadn’t spoken to him in ten years, but didn’t he deserve the truth? Murph knew Brent wasn’t his biological dad, but until Brent left them, she’d believed it didn’t matter. She abruptly sat down on the last bin she was dragging across the driveway, cradling her head in her hands. Enzo had made it clear how he felt the night she left. But she’d never meant for Murph to pay the price for her mistakes.
It was nearly dark by the time she and Murphy cleared out the sunroom. The large room on the side of the house had once been a lanai, screened in but not a real room, until Blue’s mum and dad had spent an entire spring out here painting, laying ceramic tile, and replacing the screened walls with glass. It had become the favorite room in the house, perfect for lazing about, working on a puzzle, listening to music, or making beaded necklaces and bracelets with her mum. Since Blue had been gone, the sunroom had become a catchall, cluttered with empty flower pots, patio chairs, and dozens of other things that had to be taken to the garage or basement or curb.
Blue cleaned the cabinet that would serve as Murphy’s dresser for now and attacked every pane of glass with Windex and towels and finished by washing the floor. She and Murphy carried the daybed in from the family room, and she made it up with his Star Wars comforter set along with his matching bedside lamp. She would make sure to set aside part of what she had saved so she could get him a real bed and dresser.
Murphy stood with his back to her, looking out over the Intracoastal Waterway that ran between Bliss and the mainland. The sunset to the west had streaked the sky with a blend of pinks and purples over the Sheas’ docks. Blue joined Murph, careful not to hug him or do any of the mom stuff that always seemed to make him mad lately. She didn’t speak. The light from her father’s shrimp boat came into view, its mirrored reflection wavering on the dark water. He seemed the same, except surlier. Mitch was still working sunup to sundown to keep himself in business, and without Ella’s extra set of hands. As angry and upset as Blue had been when she’d left, she’d worried over what would happen to her dad’s fishing business while he was in jail. Aunt Eva had finally given in and found out that Dale was taking care of the boats and covering the bills during Mitch’s six-month sentence. At seventeen, Blue hadn’t wondered how her dad’s friend had been able to afford that. Now, having come to terms with the fact that she couldn’t afford her mortgage on her own, she had no clue how he’d done it.
“Is that a crab boat?”
“It’s a shrimp trawler. Close but different. There’s too much competition around here for crabs, so he switched to shrimp years ago.”
“Oh. Too bad. A crab boat would be perfect for the old crab.”
Blue laughed, a loud, gleeful burst. “Oh, Murph.” She gave him a sideways glance. “That’s so bad.”
“I mean, shrimp boat doesn’t really work. He’s a big guy. I’ll add the crab joke to the book.” She and Murphy had started a bad joke notebook a couple of years ago. It was full of mediocre jokes and puns, collected from everyday moments with his friends, her friends, even his stepdad, though Brent had no idea his occasional jokes were now preserved in the pages of their bad joke book. Blue thought someday she’d take the spiral notebook somewhere to have it made into a real book, maybe when Murphy eventually outgrew the desire to keep adding to it. Blue sighed.
“I’m sorry this is how you’re meeting your grandfather. He’s upset with me. And that’s my fault.” She’d never told Murphy much about her life before him, and he’d never asked. She probably should have said more than she had, at least at this point. Her son only knew that she’d left Bliss years ago and that she and her dad had been out of touch since before he was born.
Murphy rested his forehead on the glass, watching his grandfather tuck the boat in for the night. “Mom. You gotta stop apologizing all the time.”
“Sorry,” she said before she could stop herself. She pressed her lips together.
He smiled and shook his head. “See?”
“I am sorry I made us leave home. We’ll bring Cooper and Josh down to visit soon, I promise. Even if we have to do all the driving. I’ll talk to their parents; maybe they could stay a week or so.”
He left his head on the cool glass and turned, looking at her sideways. “It’s okay.”
She didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t an empty promise. He needed his friends, and Murphy had never made friends easily. She’d make the drive if it meant him being happy here.
“What if Dad changes his mind? Then can we go home?”
“Murph.” She sighed. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
(Continued...)
♦ A NOVEL ♦
JESS SINCLAIR
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Jess Sinclair All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Alcove Press, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Alcove Press and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC. Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-63910-471-0 ISBN (ebook): 978-1-63910-472-7
Cover design by Nicole Lecht
Printed in the United States.
www.alcovepress.com Alcove Press 34 West 27th St., 10th Floor New York, NY 10001
First Edition: October 2023 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Joe, my Enzo from age six at the A&P until the final page
♦ 1 ♦
Blue’s mother was dead. Her pale legs hung limply over her father’s arm as he carried her, his wide shoulders and back rigid. Blue followed her parents home from Enzo Castellari’s house, the midnight sand still warm under her bare feet, shoes left behind in haste. She was afraid to speak. Approaching their cottage, her father shifted his hold on Ella and she cried out, the sound knocking the air from Blue’s chest in her own choked sob. Mum. She’d stood in the bedroom doorway, invisible, while her dad settled her mother in bed, bending to press his cheek against his wife’s.
Years later, her mother’s cry still echoed in her ears whenever the memory jabbed at her, a distorted, incomplete snapshot. Her mum had eventually recovered; they hadn’t lost her, not that night anyway. Standing here now, facing the gray, peeling paint of the door to her childhood home, Bluebelle Shea squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, only to have others tumble forward. Her world had been upended that night she’d trailed along the beach behind her parents, sick with fear, but it was nothing compared to actually losing her mum, and everyone else she loved all at once, two years later.
“Mom?” From behind her on the porch, Murphy’s voice jarred her from her thoughts. “I’m hungry. Do you think Grandpa will have lunch for us?”
Her son’s eyes were so dark they were nearly black, a stark contrast to his sandy blonde hair. He’d put his backpack on before getting out of the minivan. Just to walk from the gravel driveway up the broken front steps to the porch. His stuffed sea turtle Sammy endured the twisting, squeezing motions of his hands in front of him.
She rested a hand lightly atop Murphy’s head, feeling every bit as anxious as he looked. She faked as much grown-up confidence as she could summon. “Well, even if he’s already had his lunch, I’ll make you something. Sound good?”
He ducked away, rolling his eyes. “Okay. Stop.”
Blue dropped her hand to her side. Stuffed turtle or not, nine-year-old Murph kept reminding her he wasn’t a little kid anymore. She’d hoped his attitude would improve on the way here, but so far it hadn’t.
“You have to knock if you want him to know we’re here, Mom.”
She gritted her teeth against a retort she’d regret and knocked. She waited, turning away from the door to gaze out over the blue water beyond the seawall to breathe in the ocean air, that soothing hint of Florida Gulf Coast salt and balmy dampness that marked the beginning of summer in Bliss. The shrimp trawler and the large, center console vessel her dad used to catch mackerel were at the docks, exactly as they had been Blue’s whole life.
“Maybe he forgot we were coming,” Murphy said.
She smoothed a hand over her wavy blonde hair, wishing the cowlick at her left temple would relax; she’d inherited it from her mother. He wouldn’t have forgotten they were coming. She’d phoned and asked to see him, leaving out the fact that all of their worldly belongings were with them because there wasn’t a place for them in Tallahassee anymore. She’d made sure to say she’d be bringing along his grandson. Her dad’s tone over the phone had been gruff and unreadable, but he’d agreed to the visit. Had he already known about Murphy? When Blue ran away ten years ago, a week into her senior year of high school, she’d left without a plan, but had ended up with Aunt Eva, her mum’s sister up in the Florida Panhandle. Eva had hated Mitch Shea. Blue doubted her aunt would’ve told her father anything.
There was no running away now. She knocked again, louder this time, and footsteps sounded somewhere inside the house. Her dad was on the other side of that door, not answering. She took a couple of steps back from the door and nearly fell through a rotted wooden plank. Her arms flailed and Murphy reached out, helping her regain her footing. Blue’s pulse pounded in her temples. This was a mistake.
“I think, um . . . Murph, let’s go. We’ll get a room at that motel we passed before the turn off. I think I saw a pool.” She let her tone rise at the end, trying to make it sound fun.
She’d spent the last few days hearing her own false cheery tone and hating it. Her son hadn’t wanted to leave Tallahassee. He didn’t want to leave his friends or his school, and she didn’t blame him. Brent hadn’t even bothered to argue when she told him she was taking Murphy and going home to her dad’s. She’d thought Murph was upset with both of them for their family falling apart. But on the way here, he’d made it clear he was only mad at Blue. You could’ve let me stay with Dad, he’d said, sullen and sniffling in the back seat after crying for the first hour of the trip. He didn’t mean it. He was hitting her where it hurt because he hurt; even at nine, he had to know on some level that his stepdad didn’t want that.
Mitch Shea opened the door. His ruddy cheeks were flushed under a beard that had grown bushy and gray, though the hair he smoothed a hand over was still dark red. Deep lines were etched between his unkempt brows, pale blue eyes regarding her and then coming to rest on Murphy. “Good Lord,” he uttered.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Bluebelle.” He pushed the screen door open for them and stepped back. “Come in.”
The three of them stood in the small living room, dust floating in the scattered rays of sunlight. Decaying grief gripped her, squeezing her around the chest; everything was exactly as it had been when she’d left. The blanket her mother had knitted lay folded over the back of the couch, same as always, the rich earth tones now faded from the afternoon sun streaming through the curtainless picture window. Ella’s favorite books were still stacked on the end table near the couch. It was as if she’d just stepped out to the store, rather than drowned.
“Christ but you look like your mum,” Mitch said, his normally mild Irish accent heavier than she remembered. He was staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Do I?” she asked. “I hope so . . . Dad, this is Murphy, your grandson. Murph, meet your Grandpa Mitch.” She sucked in air. She stared at her father, wide-eyed. Was he ready for this? Was she?
Mitch looked down at her small son. Blue glimpsed a portion of white fluff emerging from the green cloth of Sammy’s shoulder joint, twisting in the boy’s grasp. Her father extended his hand. “Murphy’s a fine name,” he said, his voice gravelly, as if from disuse. “Good to meet you, son.”
Murph’s hand was completely eclipsed by her father’s. “Hi, Grandpa.”
“Dad. I’m so sorry,” Blue blurted. She reached out, wanting to hug him, wanting him to know this was hard for her too. Something in his expression stopped her. She shoved her hand in her pocket. “I, uh—”
He looked down. “All right.” He turned and walked away from them.
She followed him to the kitchen, the breakfast nook countertop and a million miles between them. Two of the four stools that had occupied this space were gone, and the cushions on the other two were gray and threadbare. Three place settings were arranged on the counter, with paper plates and napkins, a large platter of homemade ham and cheese sandwiches between them. “I thought you might be hungry after the drive.”
“I’m starving!” Murphy climbed onto a stool and plunked Sammy on the counter. “Mom didn’t pack enough car snacks.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Blue said again. “I know they’re just words and they don’t undo me staying gone so long, but I’m just so sorry. When Mum died—”
His hands froze and he met her gaze, his imposing eyebrows scrunched together, narrowing the blue of his eyes to slits. “No.”
“But I—”
“We’re not speaking about that. I won’t.” His words were clipped, sharp.
“Okay,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek. They’d have to talk about it eventually.
Mitch pushed the sandwich plate across the counter to Murphy. “I’ve got water or Coke, which’ll it be?”
“We don’t give him soda,” Blue said reflexively, at the same time Murphy replied, “Coke, please.”
Her father poured a glass of cold water from a pitcher in the refrigerator and set it in front of her son. “I’ll not help you break the rules, son. At least not while your mum’s watching.”
Murphy giggled. Blue caught Mitch tossing a quick wink to her kid. Her eyes flooded with tears, startling her. Maybe this wasn’t a mistake. Maybe it was the first thing she’d done right in a long time.
When they’d finished their sandwiches, Mitch straightened up from his leaning position on the counter. “Why are you here, Bluebelle?”
This was the question she had been dreading. She’d rehearsed what she would say, but now her mind was blank.
Murphy spoke up. “Dad moved out and then Aunt Eva died and Mom says we don’t have anyone anymore. Which isn’t true. I still have lots of friends.”
“Murph—” Blue didn’t bother finishing her sentence. He wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t been happy with Brent, but since he’d left, she’d become acutely aware of how small her and Murphy’s world was. And then the one person she’d always been able to count on—aunt, friend, babysitter, advice giver Eva—had died suddenly of an aneurysm.
“I didn’t know your aunt passed,” Mitch said. “I’m sorry. I know you loved her.”
“Thank you. Um. I’m not sure what Aunt Eva told you?”
“Not much.” Her father’s shoulders slumped, and all at once he looked old, much older than when they’d arrived, so much older than when she’d left. “Eva told me next to nothing. She called me once a year on your mum’s birthday to say you were fine. I don’t know why. I know she blamed me. But—” Mitch exhaled forcefully and braced a hand on the chipped tile of the countertop. “I suppose she called so I’d leave her alone. She got tired of hearing from me, I’m sure.”
Blue’s arms ached to hug him. She moved toward him, the smallest step, but he turned and ran water onto dishes piled up in the sink, adding soap and grabbing a stained dishcloth. She stayed where she was, glancing at Murphy. He’d discovered the long, curly phone cord on the ancient wall-mounted telephone and was winding it around and around his fingers and up his arms. He’d gotten good at tuning out adult conflict in his short life.
She dove in. “Aunt Eva helped me get my GED and then get through the nursing program when Murphy was little. She helped me get a job at the hospital where she worked. My husband, Brent, is filing for divorce. I’ve missed you for a long time, Dad. I wanted to come home. But I didn’t know how.” Her dad’s dishwashing motions had slowed. She kept going, addressing his back. “After Brent moved out, Aunt Eva was the only family we had up there—the only family Murphy knew, besides me. I’ve always wished he could meet you.”
Her dad turned around. He listened, drying his hands on a towel that had once been yellow.
“I don’t think we’re going back,” she said, her words hesitant. “I start my new job tomorrow; I was able to transfer from the county hospital in Tallahassee to Collier County ER. Murph and I can find a motel to stay in for a while, if you want, but maybe we wouldn’t need to? I have enough saved to help with your bills here. If, uh, I don’t know, maybe while we look for a place.”
She winced at her offer. She had a little money left with the vacation time she’d cashed out, but not much. Brent had warned her not to touch their joint account, or his lawyer would—well, his lawyer would do something to her, she didn’t fully understand all the legalities of divorce proceedings. She didn’t have a lawyer.
“You want to stay here? With me?” her dad asked.
She’d never hated her father’s unruly beard before this moment. His expression was completely unreadable. Her heart raced as she tried to steel herself against his rejection, his hurt over her staying away so long manifesting as anger. “If you’d let us.”
He nodded. “All right.” He bent at the waist suddenly, ducking down to peer out the front window over the Gulf to the west. “Getting late, I’ve still got work to do before my shrimp run.”
Murphy jerked to attention, accidentally pulling the handset off the receiver as the cord around his arms moved with him. “What’s a shrimp run? Can I come?”
“No,” Blue answered before her dad could.
Mitch opened the refrigerator and grabbed a soda. “Bluebelle, I—” He stopped, mid-stride toward the back door, looking at her. His brow was furrowed, his expression conflicted. He opened his mouth to say something and then seemed to think better of it. He scowled at the floor and shrugged, as if trying to shake off the emotion she could feel emanating from him. “There’s your old room and the sunroom. Sunroom’s full of boxes and crap. I’ll get it cleared out tonight so one of you can use that.” He walked abruptly through the side door outside, the wooden screen door bouncing against the frame.
Murphy climbed down from his stool and moved around the counter. “Does he have some cookies or chips or something?”
“Let’s see.” Blue went for the refrigerator first, giving in to her curiosity. Sierra had said her dad wasn’t drinking. Her dad had always maintained that the last drink he’d had was two years before losing Ella, despite the Breathalyzer results used against him in the trial. She had never really understood why he’d continued to refute the evidence, even after his conviction. Blue saw that he’d been truthful, at least today: other than the water pitcher and soda, there were no other beverages. No alcohol in sight. She rifled through the narrow pantry, where dry goods and staples were randomly strewn over the shelves. No bottles stashed in here either.
She pulled out a box of Saltines and handed it to her son. “This is as close as you’re gonna get to chips or cookies,” she said, laughing as he wrinkled his nose. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow after work when I pick you up. I promise. We’ll get all kinds of good snacks.” She was on guard, ready for him to complain about having to go to the day camp she’d arranged for him for childcare, but maybe he’d give her a break on that one.
Murphy plucked a cracker from the box. “Grandpa’s kind of crabby.”
She sat on a stool and leaned on the counter. “He’s not usually, I promise. He’s just out of sorts. I’m his only child, just like you’re mine, and it’s been a long time since he’s seen me. But he’s glad we’re here. He likes you. Oh!” Blue arched back as a big gray tabby cat landed on the counter between her and Murphy. “Oh my goodness, Hook,” she said, running a hand over the cat’s back and smiling. “Who’d have thought you’d still be around?”
“He’s gnarly looking, Mom. He’s gotta be old. You had him before you left here? Cats live that long?” He stood a couple of feet back, assessing the cat.
Blue frowned at her son and put her head down as the cat turned around and came back to her, sniffing her hair. Hook had half a left ear, and a long scar ran from the cat’s mouth up to just above his right eye where the fur had never grown back. “Sure, some do. Murphy, meet Hook. He’s nicer than he looks, once he gets to know you. Same as Grandpa,” she said, grinning at her son. “He’d always go out on the fishing boat. He never minded the water. The perks were probably worth it, weren’t they?” She scratched the cat behind one ear, and he purred loudly, leaning into her hand.
“He missed you.”
“I’ve missed him too. Your grandpa found him caught in some wire mesh under a shrimp trap when he was a kitten. He saved him. That’s what the scar is from. He lost a toe off his back foot too,” she said, pointing. “I remember us taking him to the vet so many times at first. He must be seventeen or eighteen now. He’s a tough old guy.”
“He’s kind of cute, in a Halloween-y sort of way,” Murphy said, tipping his head. He put a hand out to pet the cat and the tabby faced him and hissed, teeth bared, ears laid back and tail puffed up. “Dang, cat, okay.” Murphy put his hands up and stepped back.
“He’ll get used to you. He’s like that at first with everyone; he hasn’t changed, apparently.” Blue was suddenly disproportionately sad. This place was just so unwelcoming; when she’d seen Hook, she’d actually thought for a second that it’d be nice for her son to have a cat. He’d never been allowed to before. But then, of course, Hook had to go and act like his jerky self. The cat rubbed against Blue and jumped down off the counter and they heard him let himself out the screen door.
“Can I see my room?” Murph asked.
She and Murphy hadn’t packed a lot into the minivan. She still couldn’t really wrap her head around her marriage being over. In the two months she’d been alone in her house with Murphy, it was often a peaceful feeling, knowing Brent wouldn’t be walking in the door at the end of the day. It hurt to admit that, but it was true. But sometimes, her quiet, peaceful house was glaring proof that she messed up everything she touched. She’d never expected to end up divorced. She’d also never expected to end up pregnant at seventeen, hundreds of miles from home. If she’d known then that she’d be carrying her and her son’s suitcases around the hole in her father’s front porch to move back into her childhood bedroom at the age of twenty-seven, would she have found a way to come home years ago? Would she have ever left?
She thought back to seventeen-year-old Blue, the dreamlike bliss of an afternoon with Enzo Castellari abruptly replaced with sickening dread at seeing two county Sheriff’s Department cruisers pulling into her driveway. Her mum was gone from the world by then, taken by the Coast Guard to Collier County Hospital, where they’d list her time of death as over an hour before she arrived. Ella had gone overboard, tangled in the outrigger lines.
Her dad had been too incoherent with grief that night to explain anything. The sheriff had given up on getting a formal statement from him until the next day and left them reeling in shock. Their neighbor Dale, a deputy for the county and Mitch’s friend, had stayed behind, setting out food for them that got cold and then washing the dishes. Before leaving, he covered a fitfully snoring Mitch up on the couch with Ella’s blanket while Blue stared, unseeing, at the television, promising she’d go to bed soon. She’d ended up in the fairy garden with Enzo at two in the morning instead.
Only twenty-four hours earlier, Blue and Enzo were hanging their legs off the docks as the sun set across the water. Blue tucked one bare foot behind Enzo’s ankle, pushing his leg upward until he swung it back, sliding his much larger foot behind her ankle and flinging Blue’s leg into the air. She’d tipped backward on the dock, laughing. She remembered the feel of the hair on his leg, his muscled calf, the little zings through her skin where their legs touched, stirrings in the pit of her belly that compelled her to touch him, feel his skin on hers, as often as she could, in any way possible. She’d told him she loved him that night on the docks under the moon. He’d promised her his future then, before everything changed.
They’d been friends since they were two. The Castellari family had moved in across the vacant lot next door, and Blue’s mum Ella and Enzo’s mother Sofia had met bringing their toddlers to the beach to play. Bluebelle was Mitch and Ella Shea’s only child, though they had tried for more. Enzo was the firstborn of five boys. The families had quickly become friends, sharing recipes and wine and evenings spent laughing around firepits next door before the vacant land between them was bought by a real estate developer and filled with condos. After that, Blue and Enzo had taken turns cutting across the beachfront between houses to spend evenings and lazy Sunday afternoons together.
Enzo had been her best friend her whole life. But something shifted the summer before high school began. He was still her best friend, still her person, but he was suddenly so much more; they were more. It was as if someone had turned the light on in another room that neither of them knew was there. For a solid year, until the night her dad carried her crying mum home, the dinners and game nights and bonfires between the Sheas and Castellaris had taken on an evolving, exciting new dimension. Enzo shoving a younger brother out of the way so he could be closer to her, Blue pretending to fall asleep with her head on his shoulder—everything became about being together. By the time he kissed her, she’d imagined it so many times in her head, the real thing was startling. Tentative, gentle, wanting. A promise of things to come.
Blue leaned into the minivan in her dad’s driveway and hoisted the heavy plastic bin that held remnants of her life in Tallahassee, Murphy’s baby books, photo albums documenting nine years of birthdays and holidays and vacations with just her and her son at first, and then with her new husband. When Murph was three, she’d married Brent, a police officer with the city who’d persistently asked her out every time he was in the ER until she’d finally gone on a date with him. For six years, he’d been Murphy’s dad; he was in the father–son photos for softball, soccer, Cub Scouts, and had stood by the boy’s side for trophy pictures. He was also the man who’d spat the worst, most hurtful words at his stepson in the midst of their final argument, the day he’d stormed out. Murphy had gotten in the middle, trying to calm them both down. Brent had lashed out: It’s your fault I’m leaving. Your mother raised a brat—I can’t stand being around you. She squeezed her eyes shut now, remembering. Brent had slammed the door so hard the windows shook. The sound of his tires squealing down the street was followed by deafening silence. Murph’s eyes were saucers in his stricken face.
Now, she jerked the heavy bin up, shoving the painful memory behind tonight’s mile-long to-do list, and wrestled it up the walk, careful to avoid tripping on the broken and overgrown paving stones. The whole yard looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years. When they’d pulled in, she’d glimpsed the wild and unkempt backyard, vines climbing the fence and willow branches tangled in ground weeds where her fairy garden used to be.
Murphy came sprinting out and took a side of the bin from her. “Mom, I said I’d be right back out to help with the heavy stuff,” he said.
She watched him struggle with his end in determination to be strong and help her, dropping the bin in the living room and going back for more. He was getting tall already, the way she’d been at his age. As much as she saw him as her baby boy, her son thought he was so grown up. Maybe he felt like he had to be. When Brent left, he’d really left, not just Blue or the marriage but their entire family. She’d thought it would be temporary, he was going through something, he’d change his mind. But her husband’s things were already loaded into the new black Mustang he’d bought himself the week before. Even in the face of the knowledge that he’d been planning this, Blue had argued and begged him to stay, they’d get counseling, she’d do better. Murphy ran down the driveway after his stepdad’s car while Blue stood crying in the front yard. She’d expected him to turn around, at least to say goodbye to Murphy. But he hadn’t. She’d been served the divorce papers two days later.
And she’d come back here with no clue what she was going to do about Enzo. She hadn’t spoken to him in ten years, but didn’t he deserve the truth? Murph knew Brent wasn’t his biological dad, but until Brent left them, she’d believed it didn’t matter. She abruptly sat down on the last bin she was dragging across the driveway, cradling her head in her hands. Enzo had made it clear how he felt the night she left. But she’d never meant for Murph to pay the price for her mistakes.
It was nearly dark by the time she and Murphy cleared out the sunroom. The large room on the side of the house had once been a lanai, screened in but not a real room, until Blue’s mum and dad had spent an entire spring out here painting, laying ceramic tile, and replacing the screened walls with glass. It had become the favorite room in the house, perfect for lazing about, working on a puzzle, listening to music, or making beaded necklaces and bracelets with her mum. Since Blue had been gone, the sunroom had become a catchall, cluttered with empty flower pots, patio chairs, and dozens of other things that had to be taken to the garage or basement or curb.
Blue cleaned the cabinet that would serve as Murphy’s dresser for now and attacked every pane of glass with Windex and towels and finished by washing the floor. She and Murphy carried the daybed in from the family room, and she made it up with his Star Wars comforter set along with his matching bedside lamp. She would make sure to set aside part of what she had saved so she could get him a real bed and dresser.
Murphy stood with his back to her, looking out over the Intracoastal Waterway that ran between Bliss and the mainland. The sunset to the west had streaked the sky with a blend of pinks and purples over the Sheas’ docks. Blue joined Murph, careful not to hug him or do any of the mom stuff that always seemed to make him mad lately. She didn’t speak. The light from her father’s shrimp boat came into view, its mirrored reflection wavering on the dark water. He seemed the same, except surlier. Mitch was still working sunup to sundown to keep himself in business, and without Ella’s extra set of hands. As angry and upset as Blue had been when she’d left, she’d worried over what would happen to her dad’s fishing business while he was in jail. Aunt Eva had finally given in and found out that Dale was taking care of the boats and covering the bills during Mitch’s six-month sentence. At seventeen, Blue hadn’t wondered how her dad’s friend had been able to afford that. Now, having come to terms with the fact that she couldn’t afford her mortgage on her own, she had no clue how he’d done it.
“Is that a crab boat?”
“It’s a shrimp trawler. Close but different. There’s too much competition around here for crabs, so he switched to shrimp years ago.”
“Oh. Too bad. A crab boat would be perfect for the old crab.”
Blue laughed, a loud, gleeful burst. “Oh, Murph.” She gave him a sideways glance. “That’s so bad.”
“I mean, shrimp boat doesn’t really work. He’s a big guy. I’ll add the crab joke to the book.” She and Murphy had started a bad joke notebook a couple of years ago. It was full of mediocre jokes and puns, collected from everyday moments with his friends, her friends, even his stepdad, though Brent had no idea his occasional jokes were now preserved in the pages of their bad joke book. Blue thought someday she’d take the spiral notebook somewhere to have it made into a real book, maybe when Murphy eventually outgrew the desire to keep adding to it. Blue sighed.
“I’m sorry this is how you’re meeting your grandfather. He’s upset with me. And that’s my fault.” She’d never told Murphy much about her life before him, and he’d never asked. She probably should have said more than she had, at least at this point. Her son only knew that she’d left Bliss years ago and that she and her dad had been out of touch since before he was born.
Murphy rested his forehead on the glass, watching his grandfather tuck the boat in for the night. “Mom. You gotta stop apologizing all the time.”
“Sorry,” she said before she could stop herself. She pressed her lips together.
He smiled and shook his head. “See?”
“I am sorry I made us leave home. We’ll bring Cooper and Josh down to visit soon, I promise. Even if we have to do all the driving. I’ll talk to their parents; maybe they could stay a week or so.”
He left his head on the cool glass and turned, looking at her sideways. “It’s okay.”
She didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t an empty promise. He needed his friends, and Murphy had never made friends easily. She’d make the drive if it meant him being happy here.
“What if Dad changes his mind? Then can we go home?”
“Murph.” She sighed. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
(Continued...)