Page 4 of Meet Me on Lilac Lane

Her mom sighed. “You’re right, of course. Let me know if you need help covering your next payment. Dad and I can write you a check.”

Not gonna happen. “Not necessary.” She began backing off the porch. “Please don’t say anything to Dad. At least not yet.”

“Okay, but?—”

“I gotta go, Mom.” The clouds covered what was left of the late evening sunshine.

A storm was coming. The kind that this time might just take what was left of everything she loved.

And she had less than a month to stop it.

There was nothing better than putting in a full day of honest work. It was one of the reasons Cody Hart used to love fishing so much. Check that.Stillloved fishing. Even if he hadn’t been truly out on the water since his best friend, Troy, had died along with Troy’s dad, Steve.

He wiped oil off his hand with a shop rag he found lying on his workbench. Silence echoed in the pole shed that doubled as his home and shop. Situated next to the waters of Lake Huron on a small cove, the building had once housed his dad’s fishing business. After the accident that had sunk their boat and shuttered the business, his dad reluctantly allowed him to take over the building, at least until he sold the business. His dad kept most of their old equipment in a shed on the mainland where it had been closer to the places they’d sold their catch. Now Cody lived in the small office, which he’d converted to a bedroom and a small bathroom. Out on the large shop floor, he worked on restoring a commercial fishing boat.

Living in a shop made him feel a kinship with Dirk Pitt, hero of those old Clive Cussler books. Except instead of a shed full of classic cars, he had a beached whale of a fishing boat.

He clenched and unclenched his fist a few times to ease the ache in his fingers. Some days, he operated more like a surgeon than an ex-fisherman. The pieces he worked with could be miniscule. He contemplated the patient in front of him. Along the ten-foot length of the metal workbench spanning one wall of the shop, a John Deere inboard engine lay in pieces waiting for him to reassemble it and reinstall it into his boat.

If he could find the parts he needed.

A wave of cool air washed over him as the shop door opened and closed. For a split second, he thought he would see Troy come around the boat currently occupying the majority of the shop room floor. But, of course, he would not see Troy again. Not on this side of eternity.

“Hey, Cody. How’s it going?” Liam Stone—recent transplant to the island and current rebuilder of the Grand Hotel—appeared. “Whoa. Looks like quite a project you have there.”

“Yeah, when I bought this boat, I didn’t know it would take so much work to get it back into shape or that parts would be nearly impossible to find.” He had been confident he could rebuild the engine in his own shop and save himself some cash. He shouldn’t have been surprised that it didn’t turn out that way. Bad things always seemed to happen to him. “I waited weeks for a new overhaul kit. Then another two months for the fuel pump.”

Two years had passed since he’d stood at Troy’s grave and vowed to reopen the fishing business. He’d almost gotten the funds together for the extra gear and the boat parts. If he didn’t get back on the water soon, he’d lose all credibility with the restaurants Hart Fishing Company used to sell to. He couldn’t keep stringing them along. If he didn’t open during this fishing season, he would never open at all.

“I think I diagnosed the problem though,” Cody said. He pointed at the piston sleeve. “It’s cracked along there.”

Liam came closer. “Even I can see that. Will you replace it?”

“I’ll have to see if I can find the part on eBay. It’s not something they have down at any old hardware store. I don’t think they’d have it at the marine store over in Port Joseph either.”

“Might be easier to just replace the engine.” Liam shoved his hands into his pockets. The guy might wear jeans and T-shirts instead of a full-on suit now, but his expertly tapered brown hair and the high quality of his clothing still spoke of his former executive lifestyle.

Cody had only known the builder for a few months, but he’d come to respect him as someone who knew what he wanted and went after it. “They cost between ten and twenty thousand.” He shifted a few of the parts on the long workbench. Keeping them organized meant less of a headache later when he put the whole thing back together again.

“Probably not easier, then.” Liam’s wry grin matched his own.

“If I can’t find the part, I might be screwed.” Cody reached up to rub his hair, but remembered his grease-covered fingers just in time. “I’ll have to order a custom-made part and that can take weeks.”

“Remind me again why you’re doing this?” Liam turned and looked at the boat high and dry in the middle of the shop. “I mean, I’m not against hard work, but this seems over the top. Will this thing even float?”

Cody looked at the boat too, all thirty-one feet of her. A Radon commercial class with diesel engine—currently on his operating table—outfitted for trap or long line fishing. The paint was peeling off the hull in several places, and the deck needed a serious scrub down. Inside, the single bunk needed a new mattress, but the cockpit and cabin were clean and had been updated just before he bought it. “She needs a lot of work, but her bones are solid. And I need her if I hope to reopen my dad’s fishing business.”

“Why reopen? It seems to me you’re making a good living as the island’s favorite handyman. And there’s definitely enough of that kind of work around here to keep you busy.”

The trouble was, he couldn’t say exactly what it was that gave him this drive to move forward with the fishing business plan. “I guess it’s just that Troy and I had dreamed about taking over the company for so long. I can’t imagine doing anything else.” He paused. Swallowed. “Plus, being out on the water used to fill me up like nothing else. So, yeah, I could keep being a handyman, but I don’t love it.”

“I get that.” Liam ran a hand over the hull of the boat. “So, being a handyman pays the bills, but you’re looking for more.”

“Yep. I’ve been putting aside as much as I can spare each paycheck to buy Dad’s business and equipment. The money’s one issue. The boat’s another. But the biggest is getting my dad to transfer his fishing license to me.”

“Why wouldn’t he? You’d think he’d be glad for the retirement funds.”

“You’d think. But my dad’s one of the stubborn ones. He’s decided that the Hart Fishing Company is dead in the water—took the accident as a sign of sorts—and won’t even discuss it.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m hoping that waving the actual money in his face when the time comes will change his mind though.”

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