Pelican's Landing

Chapter Seven

“Your mother says you’ve hired Annie Thomas as office manager.”

Jordan handed her father a cold bottle of beer, then twisted the top on her own. Her mother was inside putting together a salad for their dinner.

“Yes. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “The store is yours to run,” he said. “I don’t have time for it.”

Jordan pulled the string on the ceiling fan, then sat down beside her father. It had been a warm day, but the evening breeze had picked up and it was pleasant out on the deck. She loved it out here. She guessed that even during the brutal days of July and August, she’d prefer to have her meals outside.

She glanced over at her father. He rarely took the time to relax and was at the restaurant seven days a week. Over the years, he’d assembled a good staff and she wondered why he didn’t slow down more. Maybe she got her work ethic from him. But he was relaxed now, she noted. His floral shorts were a bit gaudy and the Fat Larry T-shirt was snug against his ample stomach, but he had a peaceful look on his face.

“How’s Mom been?” she asked.

He didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. “She still cries at night,” he said. “I know it takes time, but…I worry she won’t get over this.”

“And what about you?” she asked gently.

“What about me?”

“You’ve been so…so strong these past few weeks. You didn’t hardly miss a day at the restaurant,” she said.

“It’s our livelihood. I can’t just walk away because—”

“Because your son died?”

He looked at her sharply. “I have responsibilities, Jordan.”

“At least Mom is letting her grief out. Have you even shed a tear?”

He stood up quickly, going to the railing. Was she out of line? Perhaps. But she’d not seen him shed a single tear, not even at the funeral. He was going on about his business as if Matt was coming back some day.

“My son died.”

Jordan went to stand beside him. “Yes. Your son died. My brother died.”

“I keep expecting him to barge into the kitchen at the restaurant and steal a fish fillet off a plate we’re about to serve,” he said with a shaky laugh. “Wearing one of those tie-dyed T-shirts he liked so.” He turned to her. “Or him out there,” he said, motioning to the bay. “Buzzing around on those Jet Skis while your mother and I entertained whatever gal he’d invited over for dinner.”

“I’m so sorry, Dad.”

He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. “Yeah. Me too. Life…well, you never know. We should all live as freely as Matt did. He liked to have fun. He didn’t stress out about anything.”

“No. No, he didn’t.”

Her father turned to her again. “It’s not just your mom who cries at night.”

She nodded, then leaned closer and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, Dad.”

“You’re here now.”