An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach #1)(92)

“What?” Joe asked.

“You have a cowlick in the same place as Brett.”

“That was the first thing I noticed when I met him, and believe me, I didn’t thank him for it. I’ve wrestled with that thing all my life. I never could tame it.” He self-consciously tried to force it down, but it didn’t stay, and when it popped back up, they both laughed. “Well, at least I know I came by it honestly.”

The waitress came by for their drink orders and to explain the specials. They ordered ice teas, a burger for Joe, and a strawberry salad for Maggie, who had little appetite and who’d barely looked at the menu. She was mesmerized by the fact of where she was and who she was with. The miracle was not lost on her.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said. “I know you have a lot of questions, and I’ll answer what I can, but could we first learn a little about each other before we talk about the past?”

“Sure. What do you want to know?”

Everything.

The waitress returned with their drinks, and Maggie waited until she left before responding, “Where you grew up. Went to school. What you studied. What you do for a living. Are you married? Do you have children?” Maggie was suddenly overwhelmed by everything she didn’t know about this man, this newly found son. She sipped her tea to keep from asking more. There was so much to learn about him, about his life, but she had to slow down, take small bites instead of big gulps, lest he feel he was being interrogated.

“I grew up in a small town in Maine. Cape Elizabeth, near Portland. Less than ten thousand people. My dad ran the local medical center. He’d gone through med school on an ROTC scholarship, so he owed the army a few years. But once his debt was paid, he went back to his hometown, opened a clinic, and met my mom there. She was an RN. So was my wife.” The index finger of his right hand began to tap slowly on the tabletop, measured beats against the white cloth. “We lost my parents and my wife during last year’s pandemic.”

Joe’s eyes misted, and he cleared his throat.

“Oh, Joe, I’m so sorry. I am so very sorry.” Maggie reached across the table to take his hand.

He nodded, an almost imperceptible acknowledgment of her condolence, before continuing. “Thank God, my kids and I survived. I have a son—Jamey, he’s twelve—and a daughter, Louisa, seven. We call her Lulu.”

Jamey and Lulu . . .

He cleared his throat again. “Anyway. I grew up there, great town. Good schools. Went to Bowdoin, then U. Maine for grad school, studied engineering.”

“You didn’t want to be a doctor, like your father?”

“I liked to build things. Engineering seemed a better fit. My parents didn’t care. They just wanted me to find something that I liked doing.”

“That was good of them,” she said, thinking of parents she’d known who’d pushed their children to be what they wanted them to be, or tried. Chris Dean came immediately to mind.

“They were wonderful people, Maggie. Very fair, always, about everything. Try everything, but you get to decide what you like and what you don’t. I was their only child, and they gave me a great life.” His voice carried the weight of his emotions, his love for the parents who raised him, and his sadness at having lost them. “That’s what I told Brett, and what I want you to understand, too. My wanting to connect with you and with Brett is not a reflection on them. I couldn’t have had better parents. I’m not looking to replace them.” He paused and took a few seconds to compose himself, his emotions so close to the surface. “I just want you to understand that. I loved my parents. I still do. Always will.”

“Of course you do—and you will. You should. I understand completely. I don’t have words to tell you how grateful I am to them.”

“I was afraid you’d think I was searching for you because I was hoping to find something better because they weren’t good parents.”

“I never thought that for a minute, Joe.”

The waitress delivered their meals, apologized for the delay, then topped off their ice teas. “Anything else I can get you?” she asked, and they both declined.

They made small talk while they ate, but when they finished, Joe took his phone from his pocket and scrolled across the screen, a smile on his face. “You asked how I knew you were you.” He passed the phone to her.

The face of a little girl with curly blonde hair and huge eyes—blue like Brett’s, not green like hers—filled the screen. “Lulu looks like you.”

“Oh, look at her.” Maggie zoomed in on the picture. “Actually, she looks so much like my daughter Grace at that age. She’s thirty-two now and dark haired, but she was blonde when she was a child.”

“So you have two daughters? Natalie and Grace?”

Maggie nodded as she returned the phone to Joe. He scrolled some more, then held the phone out to her again. “My son, Jamey. He definitely resembles his mother.”

The boy had sandy blond hair and dark eyes. He stood in front of a lacrosse net, a stick in his hand, a broad grin on his face.

“He’s very handsome, Joe.” Maggie gave him back his phone.

Joe nodded. “Yeah. He’s a good kid. Smart and kind and good natured. Heck of an athlete, too.” He smiled. “Brett picked that up right away by the way he’s standing. He’d scored three goals in that game. His best day ever.”