Bountiful Read online

  Benito: You don’t have to do that! Stay where you are.

  My brother kept urging me to stay on in his apartment. But the truth was I needed to pay my own way in life. Staying in his nearly renovated bachelor pad had only made sense when he couldn’t be here himself. Now that he was coming back to town, I needed a new plan.

  Zara: Nicole needs a yard to play in. This will be best for us.

  Benito: And you can find an apartment with a yard?

  He had me there. The only rental space in town that I could afford was in an old house that had been divided into three units. The yard was a bit of a disaster.

  Zara: I hope to.

  Benito: Take your time, tho. I haven’t even decided if it makes sense to stay in my loft when I come back. That spot might be too public for me if I’m undercover.

  Zara: But you could still be renovating it. That takes months.

  There was a pause before he replied. And then:

  Benito: Whatever, Z. Stay if you want. That place isn’t in the top 20 of things I’m thinking about right now. And I’d just as soon hole up at the orchard for a while.

  Our uncles lived on our family farm, raising pear trees and poultry. There was a big old rambling farmhouse where we had briefly lived when I was in grade school, before my mother moved us into a too-small trailer in the woods. Ben would be welcome to stay at the farm. We all were.

  The shape of our family was a weird sort of echo in time. My mother had two older brothers. And I had four older brothers, if you counted Benito’s seventeen-minute head start.

  My mom had a total of five children with a man who hadn’t really wanted children. He’d finally split for good when I was in third grade. Last we’d heard, he’d been working in British Columbia on an oil field. Even his Christmas cards had stopped when Benito and I were in high school.

  I’d given birth to one child whose father was absent. And there the echo would stop. Nicole would never have four brothers. She wouldn’t even get one.

  Benito: You know, if a yard is what you want, there’s always room at the orchard for you.

  Zara: Shut up.

  Benito: :) Thought you might say that. Can’t wait to see you and Nic! We’ll go to the snack bar and introduce her to double chocolate ice cream.

  Zara: Double chocolate for a one year old? Think again. But you and I can eat it when she’s napping. Later gator!

  Benito: In a while crocodile.

  His green dot disappeared.

  I closed my laptop in my darkened loft. Correction: Benito’s loft. Apparently our family had a thing for apartments over bars. This space was nothing like my shabby little room over the Goat, though. It was fancier, as was the bar beneath it.

  My oldest brother Alec had bought a five-acre riverfront property at auction—with a set of prewar buildings on it. But Alec didn’t have enough cash to fix up all the buildings at once. So Benito had invested in a share, securing this apartment space for himself. When he got around to finishing the renovation, the place would be awesome. The building had once been a mill, so it had high ceilings and exposed brick walls. Thick, old wooden beams ridged the ceiling.

  It was groovy. But it wasn’t mine.

  Downstairs was Alec’s bar, The Gin Mill. And across the parking area was the coffee shop I co-owned with Audrey. Alec owned that building, too.

  At least I paid rent on the coffee shop. In Ben’s apartment, I was a freeloader.

  I could sit up all night and worry about this, and sometimes did. But tonight I would try to get some sleep. Setting the computer on the coffee table, I crossed the room silently, pausing to poke my head into the tiny bedroom where my daughter slept in her crib. She was on her tummy, her legs tucked up beneath her, diaper butt in the air. Her sweet face was turned away from me but I could picture her round cheek against the sheet, her eyes shut tight, as if sleeping required great concentration.

  Before I got pregnant, motherhood had not been very high on my to-do list. I hadn’t thought of myself as a very maternal person, I guess. But Nicole had changed me. She’d made me into a parent. Some people said gushy things about their babies—The moment she was placed into my arms I swooned with happiness! My mission in life became complete! That sort of thing had made my eyes roll. Hard.

  I loved my daughter fiercely, and I would do anything for her. But the change began in me before I ever saw her face. When I’d felt her kicking for the first time, I’d realized everything was going to be different than I’d planned. My old problems had suddenly seemed small. Old jealousies and slights dried up and blew away like dust.

  There was a child inside me, and I was all she had. We were going to be a team, and I was never going to fail her. Never.

  And I’d kept that promise. She was healthy and always cared for by people who loved her. I’d given up my job managing The Mountain Goat for uncle Otto. I’d opened the coffee shop with Audrey, so that I could have a job that didn’t keep me at work until three in the morning.

  One of these days I’d learn to go to sleep before midnight like a normal person, too.

  I tiptoed over to shift the summer-weight blanket onto Nicole’s small back and forced myself to walk away from the crib and out of the room. My love for her burned brightly as I climbed into bed. In five hours or so she’d roll over in her crib and begin to babble until I roused myself to pluck her off the mattress. The two of us would get back into my bed where she’d nurse for a half hour or so, her little starfish hand exploring my face while I dozed.

  We were a team of two, and a good one. And I’d do anything for her—even move back to my uncles’ farm. I’d told Benito I wouldn’t, but that was just bluster. If my business didn’t thrive, or if I couldn’t find the right apartment, I’d endure a little too much family togetherness to give my baby girl whatever she needed.

  There was time, though. She was only fifteen months old and didn’t need much space to run. Not yet.

  Living with Otto wouldn’t be easy. He was a difficult man, prone to giving everyone his opinion whether they solicited it or not. When I’d managed The Mountain Goat, at least his advice had been less personal. He’d had strong opinions about how to organize the cash register and which brands of liquor to stock. As the sole manager for three years, I knew far more about running the place than he did.

  Now on Sundays, when our extended family ate together, I was frequently treated to his thoughts on Nicole’s thumb-sucking habit and feeding schedule.

  This from a childless man.

  So I already knew that living under his roof would be a real trial, since every bit of his advice was laced with judgement. “Shame she doesn’t have a daddy,” Otto sometimes said.

  “Good thing she has four uncles and two great-uncles,” my mother always said, chiming in on my behalf.

  One blessing of single motherhood still surprised me—my relationship with my own mother had bloomed. This was the woman who’d spent my entire youth trying to make me more ladylike. We’d fought over the length of my skirts, my curfew, my hair, and my music.

  But that had all stopped the moment I’d found the nerve to tell her I was pregnant. To my surprise, she hadn’t shed a single tear (except the joyous kind) at my “situation,” as Otto called it. Instead, she’d greeted her first grandchild with nothing but excitement.

  It had floored me. But after a time I’d understood why Mom always had my back. She knew how painful everyone else’s opinions and advice could be, because she’d spent my whole life hearing it herself.

  I got it now.

  Hardly a Sunday lunch with my family went by without someone mentioning the unusual russet color of Nicole’s hair. “Her daddy is a redhead. Must be,” Otto had said more than once, hoping I’d spill the story.

  But Nicole’s parentage was private. Someday when she was old enough to hear the truth, I’d tell her the story of meeting the stranger who became her daddy, and how I’d searched for him when I’d figured out I was pregnant. I’ll tell her he was a good man, b
ut just passing through. Nobody deserved to hear that story before Nicole heard it herself.

  And, by then, maybe there would be another good man in my life. A girl could dream.

  “You deserve someone,” Benito would say sometimes. “We both do.”

  “Then where are my guy and your woman?”

  “They’re out there somewhere,” he’d insist.

  Most days I didn’t really believe him. Dating wasn’t practical for someone with a toddler. I didn’t even let it bother me.

  As for Benito, he’d been in love once. And I’d wrecked it. If he was right that there was someone out there for everyone, I was sure he deserved it more than I did.

  In the meantime, Benito was my only confidante. He knew the details of my life-changing hookup, because I’d needed someone to help me search for Dave when I’d learned I was pregnant. Since Ben was in law enforcement, he was a good choice.

  Also, for all his flaws, my twin was a vault.

  As the clock ticked toward morning, I allowed myself the briefest memory of Dave’s chiseled face and the feel of his taut muscles beneath my fingers.

  Then I slept.

  Chapter Nine

  Dave

  “God, I love Vermont.”

  I said this as my rental car took another curve along a beautiful winding road. I had the windows down, and, out the passenger’s side, I saw a grassy hillside where honest-to-God sheep were grazing. “Look! You see that?”

  “Baa-aaa,” my teammate Leo Trevi answered from the passenger seat. “Seriously, this place is like driving through a travel magazine. Who chose this trip, anyway?”

  “Me—this time. But two years ago we rented a cabin up here for eight weeks. I forget whose idea it was. Bayer’s, maybe? I saved the card from the rental company so I could find it again.” I slowed down to make the turn toward Marbury and flipped on the turn signal. A reflex—there were no other cars in sight. And the sheep didn’t really care if I signaled.

  Yesterday I’d come back to Vermont for the first time in two years. I’d thought maybe the place wouldn’t look as good as it did in my memory. I shouldn’t have worried. This rugged little corner of New England was just as great as I’d remembered.

  Vermont was just the same. Even if I wasn’t. “I needed this vacation, badly,” I admitted. “And last year the guys talked me into going golfing in the Carolinas. So this year I stepped up and made these plans so Castro wouldn’t force me do that again.”

  The rookie snickered. “Not a big golfer?”

  “Nope. You?” I didn’t know Trevi all that well. He’d joined the team less than six months ago. He was a good guy, and I liked him. But we didn’t have a whole lot in common. He was a college boy from Long Island. I was a ruffian from the wrong side of Detroit. Also, I had seven or eight years on him.

  “I’m from Long Island. Everybody golfs. I could take it or leave it.”

  “I knew I liked you.”

  “This is going to be great. You said there was fly fishing?”

  “Yeah, and I hired us a guide for tomorrow. Can you picture O’Doul in waders? It’s a sight.”

  The rookie laughed. “I saw those pictures on somebody’s phone. Are we going to have fish for dinner?”

  “Depends on what you catch. If nothing’s biting, we’ll go to the bar instead.”

  “Tell me about this bartender,” Leo prompted. “This woman—Z…Zoe, was it?”

  “Zara. But she doesn’t work there anymore.”

  “Bummer.”

  It really was. The guys still liked to hassle me about how many nights I’d disappeared that summer to spend with Zara. If they knew I’d gone straight to The Mountain Goat last night looking for her, they’d laugh their asses off.

  But Zara hadn’t been at the Goat last night. I’d walked in to find some younger kid tending bar. And when I’d asked if she still lived upstairs, he’d said it was his place now. “Ask her uncle, the owner,” was his suggestion.

  Now there was an awkward conversation. Two years ago, your niece and I liked to get together for sex. Could I get her number?

  Leo fiddled with the radio, since we were losing the station. That always happened in Vermont because mountains blocked radio signals. The cell phone service was spotty, too. And I loved that about Vermont. You had to unplug up here. There was really no choice.

  This year I’d taken control of the unofficial team getaway, and I’d be the only one staying up here the whole time. Quite a few of my teammates—Leo included—had gotten coupled up these past two years, and they wanted to vacation alone with their wives and families. Leo had just come back from his honeymoon, in fact.

  I didn’t have a wife or family, and never would. So I’d set myself up as the organizer of this trip. I’d rented the cabin in my own name, and my plan was to hike and fish with whichever teammates showed up.

  Yesterday afternoon I’d opened up the cabin myself. Then I’d gone shopping for some groceries and taken myself out for a beer at The Mountain Goat. This morning I’d gotten out early for a little hike to a waterfall where I ate a takeout lunch beside the rushing water. Then I’d driven to Burlington to see a new physical therapist who would work on my shoulder this summer. That was the deal I’d made with the team—that I’d keep up my therapy.

  After that, I’d gone to the little Burlington airport to grab Leo. Two more of our teammates were driving up together tonight. And tomorrow’s fishing expedition was all planned out. We were going to have a great time.

  “Hey, how is that place?” Leo asked suddenly, as the road curved to show us the Winooski River.

  I looked up to see a couple of roadside businesses that hadn’t been there two years ago. “Actually, that’s new.” There was a big new bar called The Gin Mill. And—also useful—a coffee shop called The Busy Bean.

  “Can we stop?” Leo asked. “I could use a little somethin’ something.”

  “Sure.” I braked and turned into the gravel parking lot. Pulling up to an empty spot between the bar and the coffee place, I killed the engine. When I got out of the car, I groaned at the stiffness in my legs.

  “Everything okay over there, old man?” Trevi teased me.

  “I’m good,” I said quickly. I used to be like Leo, who had no idea what achy joints felt like. At thirty-two, after two decades of massive athletic endeavors, my body didn’t always behave like I wanted it to. I grabbed my phone and peeked at the reception. Four bars—almost unprecedented in Vermont. “You go ahead inside, I gotta call Bess.”

  “Give her my love.” Leo shut the car door.

  “I will.” Although Leo was agented by someone else, everyone knew my younger sister, Bess. As an agent, she was loved and feared by her clients as well as acquaintances. She had a big personality. And I owed her a call.

  As Leo disappeared, I tapped her name on my phone and waited for the ring. Bess had left me three messages while I’d been hiking. I hadn’t called her back yet because I was worried about the news she’d give me, and I hadn’t wanted to spoil my hike.

  Waiting, I whistled to myself, wondering who was going to get cut off when my call came in. I knew she’d ditch whomever she was on the phone with to talk to me, for two reasons. A) I was one of her biggest clients. B) She was my little sister.

  “Davey!” she squealed. “How’s the vacay?”

  “It’s great,” I told her. “You should try it sometime.”

  “When? There’s always a sport in season, and some asshole athlete doing his level best to make my job more difficult.”

  “Who’s on your shit list today?” I asked, stalling.

  “Michaels. That idiot got a DUI last night.”

  “No!” I said. I didn’t follow her baseball clients at all, but the DUI would give my sis a headache. Right in the middle of their season, too.

  “So there goes my week. But before I fly to Chicago and kick his ass, I have some numbers for you, big brother.”

  Gulp. “Are they decent?” I was man enough to admi
t that I was nervous to hear what kind of contract extension the league had offered me. At thirty-two, I was getting up there in years. And during the post-season I’d had an injury that had kept me out of several crucial games.

  My team had made it all the way to the Stanley Cup finals. And then lost it in game five. While I’d watched from the seats. So that was a giant bummer.

  Before my injury, my stats had been excellent. They were, however, just a hair less excellent than the last time we’d negotiated. And even if thirty-two wasn’t old for a hockey player, it was headed in that direction.

  “Yeah, the numbers are decent,” Bess said. “But you’re going to have to think this one over. They’re offering you two years at ten million even. Or three years at twelve mil.”

  “Twelve?” I yelped, offended. “I’m worth sixty percent less two years from now?”

  “Good job with the math, big brother. But that is not what that means,” she said firmly. “It’s their job to be strategic, okay? Hugh is a smart man, and he has to be nimble with his salary cap. It makes him nimble to get you to sign a two-year. And if you take the three-year, then he just saved himself some coin. But it’s your choice, D. I want you to think it over.”

  “You think there’s no chance we can get him to three years at fifteen?”

  My sister’s sudden silence said it all. Not to mention that my last contract had been for four years. Getting old sucked.

  “I obviously pressed for fifteen,” she said eventually. “But this is the best they’re going to do right now.”

  Ouch. When my sister said she’d “pressed” the general manager, it meant she’d already twisted the guy’s arm so hard it hurt. Nobody was a tougher negotiator than Bess.

  “You don’t have to decide anything today,” she said, her voice soft. “Take some time, think about your goals. And Davey—you know better than to take this personally, right? The new owner is doing everything he can to return the franchise to profitability, and the team has—”

  “A crap-ton of talented forwards,” I finished. “I get it.” I really did, too. There had been many frustrating years when I’d wished for more depth on our bench. Now we finally had it, and I shouldn’t whine too loudly if my paycheck was suffering.