The Mommy Wish Read online

  Phoebe found two small plates for their sandwiches and set them on the table in the compact salon adjacent to the galley. She watched while Molly heated up the griddle.

  “You do that different from Dad,” she told Molly.

  “Do what different?”

  “Make grilled-cheese sandwiches. He doesn’t put them together so neatly, and if they fall apart, he says a bad word. Then he usually burns himself on the frying pan or something and says another bad word. Then—”

  “Phoebe!” came a stern voice from the engine room. “There are some things we don’t discuss with strangers.”

  “This is Molly. She’s not a stranger. Mr. Emmett told us all about her, remember?” Phoebe said patiently. She paused, and no comment came from the engine room. Instead the diesel engine roared to life, emitted a few metallic chugs, then quit abruptly amid a new outpouring of noxious fumes.

  “Here’s where Dad usually says a really bad word,” Phoebe whispered, but the engine room remained ominously quiet.

  Molly brought the sandwiches to the table.

  “You know why I used to call them sand wishes?” Phoebe asked. “Because I thought I could make a wish while I was eating one and it would come true.” She spoke wistfully.

  “What wishes did you make?”

  “To live in a house again. It hasn’t happened so far, so maybe it’s not really true about the sand wishes. Sometimes I still wish, but mostly for a mommy. My mommy died.”

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe. My mother died, too, but not until I was seventeen.” Her adjustment to losing her mom at that rebellious age had been difficult, considering that her brother was already away at college. Molly, a senior in high school at the time, had been forced to assume most of the responsibility for Brianne, who at age eleven had been a handful. Molly’s heart went out to Phoebe, who was so young to be left without a mother.

  Phoebe waited for Molly to sit down, then went on talking. “I was four years old when Mommy died. I remember her, though. She wore blue a lot and liked to jog in the park. We had a dog named Cookie. My dad gave Cookie to the neighbors when we sold the house.”

  Molly detected a deep sadness in Phoebe’s eyes, even though she delivered this information in a matter-of-fact manner.

  “I bet you miss Cookie, don’t you?” Molly noted distractedly that there had been no sound from the engine room for some time.

  Phoebe nodded, her face solemn. “We’re supposed to get Cookie back when we get another house, but I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”

  The engine room door slammed open. Eric emerged, clearly annoyed. He addressed the air somewhere to the right of Molly’s head. “I have to go to the marine hardware store for some bolts. Phoebe, you can come with me.”

  “We were just going to eat,” Molly said.

  “Yeah, Dad, she just made the sand wish—sandwiches.”

  Eric blew out a long breath. He treated Molly to a searching look. “Okay, Phoebe, you can stay here if Molly doesn’t mind pulling baby-sitting duty,” he said brusquely, as if he expected her to refuse.

  “Of course I don’t mind,” Molly said quickly, taking perverse pleasure in the expression of surprise that flitted across Eric’s face.

  He afforded Molly a curt nod. “I’ll be back in an hour and a half or so. Bye, Peanut.”

  He ruffled Phoebe’s bangs before starting up the ladder, loose-hipped and long-limbed, and Molly forced herself not to look at his muscular legs working beneath the faded fabric of those tight jeans.

  “I’m glad I can stay here with you,” Phoebe confided, grinning up at her. “You know, I think this is a lucky day. We should both make wishes.”

  “I don’t have a wish,” Molly protested.

  “Well, I do.” Phoebe leaned toward her with an air of letting Molly in on a marvelous secret. “I’m wishing that you’re going to be my new mommy.”

  Molly’s jaw dropped at this unexpected pronouncement. “But I—”

  “That’s my wish, and you can’t do a thing about it, Molly.”

  Molly, though reeling with astonishment, had the good sense to clamp her mouth shut. She never wanted to be a mother. After having guided Brianne through her turbulent teenage years, she was sure that motherhood was most definitely not her thing. Besides, she had a career, not to mention that she barely knew this child.

  Phoebe picked up her sandwich, talking a mile a minute. “Now, listen, Molly, this is important. This is how you make a wish on a sandwich. You have to close your eyes, make your wish, say it out loud and take a bite.” She demonstrated.

  Bemused and amused, Molly listened as Phoebe made her wish. She didn’t try to stop her, and she was so touched that she made no further comment. And in spite of herself, she found herself making a wish, too, though it was a silent one: I wish I knew someone besides Eric Norvald to help me sail this boat to Florida.

  Never mind that Emmett had hired Eric himself. She was in a difficult situation here, and she’d better find a way out.

  DESPITE HIS PROMISE to be back soon, Eric didn’t return until after dark, whistling tunelessly as he came aboard, then tossing her duffel down the companionway ahead of him and carrying the case containing her harp.

  “I’ll take that,” Molly said quickly, latching on to the harp case. For the past half hour she had been pacing the length of the salon, fuming at Eric’s lack of responsibility, at his absence, and, since scruffy beards were a sore point with her, his appearance.

  “What is it, anyway?” He was staring at the harp case.

  “An Irish harp.” She set it carefully on the lounge.

  “I’ve never heard one.”

  “Maybe you never will,” she said tartly.

  He paused, pursing his lips. She thought she spotted the promise of a strong jaw and a firm chin under all the stubble, then wondered why she’d noticed.

  “What are you trying to say?” he asked abruptly.

  She drew a deep bolstering breath. “That my grandfather made a mistake hiring you to sail with me to Florida. I don’t think we get along well enough to participate in a cooperative venture such as sailing this boat.”

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “From the way you’ve acted ever since I climbed aboard,” she said heatedly. “From your lack of responsibility. You’ve been gone for six hours—do you realize that?”

  He ran a hand up the back of his neck, ruffling the hair that grew too long. “I’m fully aware of the time. I had to drive forty miles inland to get that special bolt, and when I got to the store, they only had two in stock. I had to wait for more to be brought in from Raleigh on a truck that broke down along the way. Believe me, I would rather have been here. Where’s Phoebe?”

  “She’s asleep in there.” She angled her head toward the smallest stateroom, barely big enough for two stacked bunks. “She heated us a can of hash before climbing into bed and singing her imaginary vacuum cleaner to sleep.” Her tone was as accusatory as she could make it.

  Eric opened the door, looked in on the sleeping Phoebe and shut the door again. His features softened, his voice, too. “Poor Phoebe. I should have been back in time to tuck her in,” he said quietly, looking stricken.

  “Don’t you keep her on some kind of schedule?”

  “Yes, when I’m not working night and day to get a boat ready,” he shot back. “This engine can be a bitch to repair. It was made in Germany, hardly anyone in this country has parts to fit it and I’ve worked as hard as I can to meet the sailing date that Emmett set.”

  Molly knew from her grandfather’s discussion of Fiona’s engine problems that what Eric said was true. Okay, so maybe she had overstepped her bounds. She forced herself to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry. I’m concerned about your daughter, that’s all.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Phoebe has all too few people to care about her. Thanks.”

  This man had given no indication of kindness or gentleness before this, and yet here it was. She made herself consid
er this situation from his point of view; the guy had lost his wife, after all, and it couldn’t be easy to be a single father. She was considerably more calm when she finally spoke.

  “Um, Eric. Can we start over?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. There’s work to do, but I’ll have the boat ready by morning. We can leave early. According to the latest reports, we’ll have an ideal weather window.”

  Now Molly realized that it was up to her to make a decision: Should she take a chance and fire Eric outright? And if she did, who would help her move Fiona to Fort Lauderdale? This was a sleepy little marina, and the nearby town wasn’t even a dot on the map. It was unlikely that she’d find any qualified captains here. Her grandfather had specifically asked her to do the job, citing her brother Patrick’s trip to Ireland, where he was working on a book about Irish folklore, and the fact that Brianne’s job teaching photography in Australia wouldn’t conclude for a couple more weeks. Emmett himself had mentioned medical tests as the reason that he couldn’t accompany the refurbished and rebuilt Fiona to Florida as he usually did every fall.

  Molly resigned herself to being stuck with Eric Norvald, like it or not. She supposed if he didn’t work out, she could order him to pull into a larger marina somewhere down the coast where she’d be more likely to find another person qualified to sail Fiona.

  “All right,” she said wearily.

  Eric seemed relieved. “Good. As for Phoebe, she’s more resilient than you think. If she’s ever in your way, holler and I’ll see that she doesn’t annoy you.”

  Molly nodded, surprised at this.

  “By the way, how’s Emmett? The last time I talked with him on the phone, he didn’t sound too chipper.”

  The last thing she’d expected was for Eric to wax solicitous about her grandfather. “He’s—he’s as irascible as ever, eager to finish those tests he’s having at the clinic in Minnesota, and looking forward to winter at his Florida house.”

  “Good. We’ll have Fiona there when he arrives.”

  Before she could reply, Eric disappeared into the engine room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Thoughtfully, Molly checked in on Phoebe, who was sleeping peacefully with her head pillowed on her hands, and then she went aft to stow her things in the built-in drawers of the master stateroom. Her grandfather occupied it when they sailed together, while she and Brianne shared the smallest stateroom and Patrick slept in the V berth in the bow. These quarters were bigger than her usual, and after she had finished settling in, she showered in the adjacent bathroom and climbed into the high queen-size bed. Over the bed were three lovely stained-glass windows, and the lights of the marina shining through them lent a soft glow to the room. It was good to be back on Fiona, good to be back where she’d so often had fun with her family.

  Emmett would be traveling to the clinic from his home in Maine tomorrow, but he’d played down her concern about his health when she’d last talked to him.

  “Oh, you know how it is,” he’d said. “Doctors like to help out other doctors, so they’re sending me to Minneapolis, where a new team of doctors will probably send me to some more doctors.”

  “Grandpa, you’re scaring me.”

  “I hope I can scare off those doctors, as well. Say, Molly Kate, are you planning to enjoy your vacation from work?”

  “Aren’t I, though? And isn’t my boss having trepidations about doing all my work himself?” At thirty-six, Francis X. O’Toole was only five years her senior, and she’d known him since she was a kid. She’d been a bridesmaid when he’d married Elise, who had been a college classmate of her brother.

  “Don’t worry about Frank, Molly Kate. He has the charming and efficient Mrs. Brinkle to run the office while you’re away.”

  This was true. The effervescent Lorraine Brinkle of the short blond curls and flippy skirts had recently graduated from college with a B.A. in accounting at the age of forty-five, and despite her tendency to boogie down the hallways at the corporate offices singing reggae tunes, she was capable in the extreme. Which was why Molly should stop thinking about work.

  After forcibly banning thoughts of McBryde Industries from her mind, Molly lay awake, listening to the waves slapping against Fiona’s hull. She’d always loved sleeping on the sailboat, lulled into peaceful dreams by its gentle rocking. But on this night, she was a long time falling asleep. The clang of metal against metal on the other side of the wall kept her awake as Eric worked on the diesel engine, and she kept expecting to hear the creak of the engine room door that would signal he was through for the night.

  She never heard it. She fell asleep long before Eric’s work was done. And she dreamed of a lanky man with bright blue eyes, though she never got a good view of his face. It was Eric Norvald, though. She’d bank on it.

  Chapter Two

  Eric rose from his berth in the bow of Fiona early the next morning before the fog had cleared from the Sound, checking on his sleeping daughter before brewing coffee as strong as he could make it. Her Majesty Molly Kate McBryde was sleeping in, no doubt, he thought wryly after a glance at the closed door to the master stateroom. It was probably just as well, since he had a checklist a yard long that needed attention before they could cast off.

  He took his coffee up on deck and watched the sun rise over the water, inhaling deeply of the brine-scented mist. The sunrise was a pretty sight, one that never failed to please him.

  That business about Phoebe last night and the fury in Molly’s eyes when she all but accused him of being a father who shirked his duty—it was so unfair. He loved Phoebe wholeheartedly, more than he loved anyone else in the world. Who was Molly Kate McBryde to criticize him? She was a spoiled brat, heir to the McBryde millions, a dilettante who was free to leave her cushy job in the family manufacturing business for however long it took to ferry her grandfather’s yacht to Fort Lauderdale. She wouldn’t, couldn’t understand what it would be like to walk a mile in his well-worn Docksiders.

  He should have informed Emmett McBryde that he’d find his own first mate, thank you very much. He could have called his friend Tom, who in the past had often left his insurance business on the spur of the moment to go sailing. Or his brother, Lars, who needed a vacation from his family once in a while.

  But would either of those options have worked? Tom’s expanding business sapped most of his energy these days, and Lars’s wife was expecting a baby soon. Maybe there was no one to call, no one he could rely on.

  Only himself.

  “Dad, I’m up!” said Phoebe, scrambling up the ladder. She catapulted herself into his arms, almost spilling his coffee.

  “Wait a minute, Peanut,” he said, setting his mug down carefully in the cupholder beside the ship’s wheel. He wrapped his arms around his daughter, inhaling the fresh just-woke-up scent of her.

  She pulled away. “You didn’t come home until late last night,” she said.

  “It took me a long time to get the bolts,” he explained. It seemed as if he was always explaining something to Phoebe, always trying to excuse himself.

  “I waited and waited, but I couldn’t stay awake. Are we leaving here today?”

  “Yes, as soon as I finish my coffee.”

  Her face crumpled. “I was just getting to know Mrs. Knowles, the lady in the office. She makes really good oatmeal cookies. And she has a cat, Boots. He’s going to have kittens.”

  “Boots is a she, Phoebe. She’s going to have kittens.”

  “I won’t get to see them,” Phoebe said, disappointment evident in her tone.

  Eric didn’t know what to say about that.

  “Well, one nice thing is that Molly is going with us. She said so,” Phoebe said, perking up a bit.

  “That’s right.” He drained the last bit of coffee and stood up. “Okay, kiddo, I set your Cocoa Krispies out in a bowl in the galley. You’d better eat before we get under way.”

  “I’ll come up to eat with you,” Phoebe said, climbing down the ladder.

  Things might
have been different by this time if he hadn’t taken this job, Eric reflected as he proceeded through his checklist of things to do. Much as he liked Emmett McBryde, Eric hadn’t wanted the task of sailing this big boat to Fort Lauderdale. But he’d bonded with the old guy during Emmett’s visits to Tarheel Marina, and when Emmett had invited him to live aboard when he had to return home to Maine, Eric had accepted his offer. He figured that he’d feel good about helping Emmett out, and at the time he and Phoebe were staying on a trimaran whose owner had suddenly shown up and decided to go cruising to the Bahamas—and so here they were, living on Fiona.

  Eric had meant his occupancy of Emmett’s boat to be temporary before moving on to Thunderbolt, Georgia, where Steve, a buddy from his navy days, had invited him to work on a shrimp trawler. It sounded like a good deal. He and Phoebe could live in a camper trailer on Steve’s property, and Phoebe would be able to play with Steve and Joyce’s three kids and maybe be less lonely. Maybe quit playing with pretend vacuum cleaners, for Pete’s sake.

  He heard doors opening and closing below and turned around, expecting to see Phoebe.

  “Good morning.”

  Damn! If it wasn’t Queen Molly Kate McBryde, her hair as shiny as new copper pennies, her complexion all rosy from sleep. She peered up the companionway from the salon below, and she was wearing a robe that, from this angle, showed exactly the right amount of cleavage to whet his interest.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Help yourself to some coffee. You can fry yourself an egg if you want.”

  “Okay. Then I want to take a look at the charts.”

  “Go ahead.” Eric wished that Molly had stayed in bed. Her presence on deck wouldn’t be required until just before they actually left the dock, though he doubted that she would be much help even then. She didn’t appear strong enough to haul in a sail, not that it would be necessary. Fiona had motorized winches. Eric doubted she’d know much about navigation, either. That was okay. He could handle it. It would be best if she’d limit her help to throwing a line now and then and confine her main attention to baby-sitting Phoebe. He’d feel better if two adults were keeping tabs on his daughter when they were under way.