“There’s the fruit salad Lucas made,” Frankie offered.
Mitch opened up the first cooler. “Also, we have oatmeal raspberry bars and chocolate chip toffee cookies.”
“Made by Joyce?” Willa asked.
“Who else?” Smiling, Mitch put the cookies and bars on the table. He looked at Lucas. “Considering the fact that Joyce’s sister, who is apparently a better baker than she is, will be here in a day or so, that racquetball game can’t come at a better time. I’m going to need a way to burn off all the extra food they’ll be making.”
Lucas nodded. “I heard. I really want to get the two of them on an episode of my show. You think they’d go for it?”
Mitch laughed. “Oh, I’m sure. But if Joyce gets famous and I lose her to the Big Time, you and I will have a serious problem.”
Willa unwrapped an oatmeal bar. “I could totally see Joyce going viral.”
Lucas held his hands up. “Hey, now. I can’t be held responsible if that happens.”
Mitch clapped Lucas on the back. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
Harper just smiled and watched and reveled in the friendly banter and good spirits. Could she really leave all of this to return to California?
The answer wasn’t that simple. Her clients were in California. But more and more, her heart and head wanted to be here.
Chapter Nineteen
Headed for home, Mitch guided the boat along the coast, keeping the speed easy and the ride smooth. His guests were all either napping or soon to be.
After they’d eaten lunch, they’d cleaned up, and then, because they were hot, full, and lazy, they’d all gotten pool noodles out of one of the storage cubbies and floated around in the water in the shade of the boat. Except for the dogs. They’d stayed on board and snoozed.
Mitch nodded, thinking about the dogs. They were great company. Maybe he should get a dog. What was stopping him? He was home all the time. He already went out running on a regular basis. A dog that could go running with him might be the way to go.
He’d have to explore the different breeds, then see if there were any local rescues where he could adopt one. He couldn’t see paying for a dog when there were so many that needed homes.
Something to research.
He exhaled, the day catching up with him. He’d sleep well tonight. Today had been one of the most enjoyable days he’d had in a long time. Not that the bar was set so high. Since losingJeanie, he’d actually had no enjoyable days. This would be the first one. And what a day it had been.
He’d made some new memories in an important place. Amazing how that had given him a new perspective.
His passengers were all lazing about. Lucas and Frankie had returned to the sun bed on the bow. With the sun at their backs now, they were mostly in shade. Harper and Willa were behind him on the couches. The dogs were passed out on the deck.
He didn’t mind the dose of solitude at the helm. He’d always enjoyed that. Just him, the boat, and the water. The breeze whistling past, the late-day sun sparkling on the surface. The occasional hand raised in acknowledgement of another passing boater. There was something Hemmingway-esque about it all that spoke to his writer’s soul.
Not something he’d ever admit publicly. That would be far too precious, and he wasn’t that guy.
Although, hewastrying to be more like that guy. More in touch with his feelings. More willing to talk about them and share what was going on inside. Maybe hanging out with Lucas would help him in that area.
But accessing his emotions in that way was hard. Harder than writing a book, and that felt Sisyphean at times. Journaling was helping.
Harper was helping more. Talking to her was easy.
He’d had an epiphany today, as he’d floated in that water, watching the effortless way the rest of them interacted with each other. The way they laughed so readily.
He had allowed grief to become his identity. Just like some people chose happiness, he’d chosen grief. The man who had once been Mitchell Ripley, famed author, had become Mitchell Ripley, widower. Mourner. Author of his own misery.
Jeanie had always chosen happiness. Even on the worst of days, she could find something good to smile about. Jeaniewouldnotwant him to live the rest of his life wallowing in grief and sadness, and, admittedly, self-pity.
Why had he clung to those feelings with such completeness? Mourning was a human right. He didn’t blame himself for that.
But Jeanie had been gone for years now. To hold on to those heartbreaking feelings for all that time... He shook his head. Jeanie would never have approved of that.
