6. Eddie

J ust when he thought the sun never stopped shining on this island, Eddie noticed that dusk was descending, turning the water outside his room spectacular shades of grape and tangerine.

Which reminded him—he was hungry.

He’d had a great outdoor lunch with Mel and Jazz in a Key West pub, walked around the colorful little town, and spent the day being a total tourist. As it grew later, though, his daughters wanted to go to Mallory Square and get a spot to watch the epic sunset with fifty-seven bazillion other people.

No, thanks. It wasn’t just the sea of cargo-shorts and sunburns that put him off, or the fact that, at seventy-six, he didn’t relish the idea of smashing next to strangers to watch something that happened every day.

It was…Mallory Square. Today, it was a paved paradise with vendors selling souvenirs, tropical drinks flowing, and street musicians strumming. But nearly sixty years ago, it had been a massive dirt-covered wharf with a makeshift stage and music-loving teenagers sleeping in tents.

Although some of them weren’t sleeping .

Nope. Couldn’t go there. Without having told Lovely why he was here, or coming clean to Beck, he wasn’t ready for Mallory Square memories.

Not that he really had much of a memory of the night. Just what threads of colors and sounds he’d managed to bring alive in that song, which had played in his head non-stop all day.

After sneaking in an afternoon nap that he’d deny he ever took, he stared out at the water, then stared down at a blank page, then stopped staring to go find food.

He made his way downstairs to the hushed quiet of an empty house. At the bottom step, he glanced toward the vestibule that Beck had said led to the owner’s suite, but that door was closed tight. The living and dining rooms were washed in a late-afternoon glow streaming through plantation shutters.

The light fell on framed pictures perched on bookshelves and inviting groups of chairs for lounging and reading. The furniture was like old-school Victorian-meets-the beach, in muted colors and soft textures.

A throw blanket here, a small vase of flowers there, carved moldings around the windows, and wide-planked wood floors all made him feel like he was in a magazine…but also in a well-loved home.

Around the corner, he stepped into an oversized kitchen with sparkling white countertops and one whole wall of glass that looked out at the water. On the center island, he spotted a framed, handwritten message to guests, inviting them to help themselves to snacks in the pantry or drinks in the fridge and to feel free to enjoy the deck or head down to the water for a stroll.

For a few seconds, his gaze stayed locked on the words at the bottom of the note.

With love and gratitude to have you as our guests,

Beck and Lovely

Something about their togetherness, the oneness of these women, lifted his spirits. They were clearly quite close, with that special connection that he sometimes suspected God saved for women. That made him a weird mix of jealous and grateful.

He wasn’t sure where that left him, a genetically connected outsider who could conceivably throw a grenade in the middle of their relationship.

Mulling that, he rounded the counter and headed to the fridge. Inside, he instantly zeroed in on a pitcher of lemonade, a bowl of blueberries, and a platter of chocolate-covered…somethings.

Yes, please, screamed the sweet tooth he tried to ignore.

He assembled himself a small plate of treats, impressed by how easy his hostesses made it for a guest to navigate the kitchen. He poured a giant glass of lemonade—massively better than iced tea, in his humble opinion—and took it to the deck.

There, he settled at a table to watch the east-facing water change colors as the sun set on the other side of the island, mostly thinking about how to handle his next conversation with either or both of the women.

Yes, he wanted to interview, investigate, and tiptoe his way through any landmines. But mostly, he really wanted the truth on the table. He wanted those cards or chips or whatever to fall—as long as it wasn’t one of the nice ladies who did the falling.

He tipped his head back to the violet-tinged sky and closed his eyes, imagining just how he could and should tell his tale.

Fact was, Mel would do it for him if he didn’t hurry. That much he knew from her anticipation and impatience today. So, how much did he need to know before he shook up their worlds? Did he need to know everything about their history or who they imagined Beck’s father was or?—

At the sound of a car door, he sat up, listening. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs to the stilt home, waiting to see whose head would appear at the top of the stairs.

“Oh, hello.”

It was Beck, wearing the same white jeans and pink top she’d had on this morning, but her smile appeared a little less bright than the last time he’d seen her. She didn’t seem surprised to see him, but… cautious.

“Hello, Beck.”

“Eddie.” She took the last two steps to the top, glancing at the table. “I’m so glad you found the candies and lemonade. If you want something stronger, we have beer and wine and, of course, champagne.”

“Never touch the stuff.” He angled his head toward the other chair, following a gut that rarely let him down. “Wouldn’t mind some company, though, if you’re not busy.”

She hesitated for a second, then nodded, eyeing him with curiosity and…suspicion? He couldn’t tell, but the fact that she joined him felt like an open door. Well, at least it wasn’t locked.

“So, where are your daughters?” she asked.

“A place called Mallory Square.” He stood up as she pulled out the chair, catching her look of surprise as he made the gentlemanly gesture. “You familiar with it?”

She gave an easy laugh. “Of course. They stayed for sunset?”

“Along with all the tourists who ever were,” he said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Can I bring you a glass of some of the finest lemonade I’ve ever had?”

“That’s Lovely’s lemonade,” she told him, her smile growing. “She’s famous for it. And I’m supposed to be waiting on you.”

He held up a hand. “Allow me. You enjoy the view.”

“Then I’ll take a glass. Thank you.”

Inside, he took his time filling a glass with ice and pouring her drink, using the brief distraction to plan what he could say.

Maybe this should be information gathering only. He supposed he needed to know some of their history—what Beck had been told, how Lovely had handled being a pregnant teenager…whatever.

Then, and only then, would he plan how he’d tell Lovely and let her break the news to Beck.

Satisfied with that strategy, he walked back outside and found Beck gazing out at the water. He slowed his step for a moment, studying her profile. Was that his mother’s slightly upturned nose? Yes, she favored Lovely in her coloring and facial shape, but he chewed his lip just like that when he was concentrating.

Oh, staying quiet would be hard. This was his daughter . He nearly dropped the lemonade as the impact of that hit him.

She turned and smiled—now, that expression belonged to Lovely—making him shake off the thought and remember the job at hand.

“You look deep in thought,” he said, placing the lemonade in front of her. “I’d say a penny for your thoughts, but it would date me and make me sound way too uncool.”

“My mother says that all the time, and she’s timeless and totally cool.”

Smiling at the kind and considerate response, he sat down and lifted his drink. “Then I’ll toast to Lovely, always a favorite name of mine.”

She dinged his glass with hers. “That inspired the song.”

Wait. Was that a question or a statement? And did she mean…the name or the woman that inspired the song?

“Yeah,” he said, purposely vague. “What a coincidence, huh?”

She didn’t answer, but took a sip and lowered the glass, holding his gaze with something of a challenge in her green eyes.

“She wasn’t kidding when she said she loves the song. Just imagine…what a gift you gave her.”

“I…oh, well, that’s nice,” he said, not sure how to interpret that. But the door felt like it had just cracked open another inch, so he headed in. “I admit, I was surprised by your comment that another woman had raised you,” he said. “Too personal to ask why?”

She searched his face, considering the question. “A little personal, but that’s fine. Lovely was a teenager when I was born, and the world was different. Her sister, Olivia, was twelve years older and childless at the time, after years of trying to have a baby. She and her husband were living at a military base. Lovely went to stay with them in Carlsbad and gave me up at birth to raise.”

“Carlsbad, California?” He tried and maybe failed to keep the surprise from his voice.

“I was born there,” she said. “But I only learned that about two years ago.”

First, he mentally gave points to Jazz, who’d called that one on the nose. Then a bunch of new questions formed, but one rose to the top. “You only found out two years ago? You didn’t know your whole life?”

“My mother—Olivia—was very controlling. And one of the things she controlled was how frequently I saw Lovely, which was pretty much never. My grandparents were sworn to secrecy and even my father didn’t know because he thought I was conceived while he’d been home on leave.”

“And Olivia never told him, either?” He wasn’t sure if he respected the woman or wanted to strangle her.

Beck shook her head. “He died in Vietnam before I was born.”

He sucked in a breath. “Viet— Oh, wow. I’m sorry, Beck.” Sorry he’d used a draft deferment to pursue his musical career and stay the heck out of Hanoi. Shame punched him, making him lean back and feel it in the gut. “So you never met him. That’s…wow. Did she, uh, remarry?”

For some reason, he hoped Beck had someone in the role that should have been his.

“Briefly.” She swallowed and looked directly at him. “I was already an adult, and she divorced him a few years later. I’ve never really…had a father.”

The words jabbed him right in the…tear ducts. Casting his gaze down toward the table, he dug for composure.

“After I was born, Olivia moved back here to Coconut Key,” she told him, the words sounding a little rushed, as if she’d been holding them back. “We lived in this house, with my grandparents and Aunt Lovey , as I called her, until I was ten. Then Olivia took me away to Atlanta.”

“Took you away?”

“I didn’t want to leave, but I was a kid. And she would never come back. Not even for either of my grandparents’ funerals. I…lost touch with Lovely. My mother guarded her secret and took it with her to the grave, knowing that if Lovely and I spent too much time together, I’d get suspicious. The genes are strong, and the resemblance is undeniable.”

“How did you reconnect with her?” he asked.

“Lovely reached out to me,” she said, looking back at the water for a moment. “She had a, uh, major change in her life.”

“A death?” he asked gently, imagining that she’d lost a husband or a child.

“Hers.”

“Excuse me?”

She took a deep and slow breath, turning from the water to face him straight on. “You may have noticed some scars on her face. She was in a terrible car accident and was pronounced dead at the scene.”

“What?” He barely breathed the word as chills tiptoed up his spine, the story getting twistier and more shocking with each revelation.

“She was technically dead briefly—a few minutes, I think—but in that time, she had the classic near-death, walk through the light, go to the other side experience. Only hers ended with meeting Olivia, who’d died almost five years earlier.”

More chills, but this time they marched. “You better explain that, Beck.”

“In that, uh, heavenly encounter, Lovely believed her sister gave her permission to tell me the truth. So, she reached out and invited me here. I was in the throes of getting divorced and my oldest daughter, Peyton, came with me.” She smiled, looking almost relieved to have shared all that. Did she tell most guests? Most strangers? Something told him the answer was no.

“Anyway, we never left,” she finished. “I’ve lived here for almost two years.”

“How did Lovely tell you?” he asked. “What did she say? And were you upset to have been lied to your whole life?” He held up a hand that he hoped she didn’t notice was trembling. “I know I shouldn’t pry but…I’m invested. In the story,” he added quickly.

A glimmer of a smile pulled. “I appreciate your interest, Eddie. She didn’t tell me right away, but the truth did come out and I was… Yes. I was upset.”

And would she be upset again? When this new truth came out?

“I understand,” he said. “Being lied to your whole life is upsetting.”

“It was but, you know, Lovely is…lovely.” Her voice grew thick as she spoke. “First, she’d made a written promise to her sister, signed and sworn on the Bible, and no one keeps her word like Lovely Ames.”

Another admirable trait, he thought.

“Second,” she continued, “that woman has more heart, soul, kindness, spirit, tenacity, strength, and love than ten mothers wrapped into one. I love her and am so grateful for these years we have. It was easy to forgive her for the decision to keep the truth from me, and we’ve gotten past it.”

“Good, good,” he said softly, wondering if he’d be forgiven, too. But he still didn’t know who Beck thought her father was.

For a moment, they didn’t speak, the silence heavy between them. He had to know. He had no choice.

“And…your father?” he finally whispered. “I mean, the father…the man who…biological…” Geez, get a grip, Sly.

She gave a soft smile, as if she could hear his inner thoughts. “Lovely…um…well, this might be more information than I should share…so…”

“Please, Beck. Share it.”

Even in the waning light, he could see her pale as she stared at him. “She never knew his last name, only his first.”

His heart felt like it was folding in half, hammering and tight and achy and about to explode with one simple thought…

Tell her, tell her, break all your plans and rules and tell her!

“Does she want to know his name?” he asked, every word halting.

She tried to nod, but her eyes filled with tears, and he simply couldn’t help himself. He reached over the table and put his hand on top of hers. “Do you want to know, Beck?”

“I think I already do…Ned.”

The word shot like a bullet into his belly, stealing his breath. His head felt light, his heart heavy.

For what felt like eight measures of dead silence, they didn’t move or speak, his hand over hers, their gazes locked.

“You’re crying,” he whispered.

“So are you.”

He gave her a bittersweet smile. “Of course I am. Because…because…” Damn, the tears rolled. “Because…”

“Please.” She used her free hand to swipe a tear. “I can’t play games and dance around and ask you questions. It’s not my style.”

He felt a smile pull. “It’s not mine, either.”

“It must be hereditary.” They said the words at exactly the same time, in the same tone, and punctuated them with the same shocked laugh.

In an instant, they both rose and came around the table. All they could do was hug, a father and daughter, holding each other tight for the first time in fifty-seven years.

He embraced her for a long time, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to speak.

He had another daughter, as beautiful, brave, and spectacular as the other two and, right then, he’d never been happier.