All That You Are Page 15

  He was so good-looking with the way his black hair brushed his ears and shirt collar. His mouth’s firm set said more than words.

  Finally he spoke in a low tone. “I get it. You’ve been hurt.” In a soft and low voice, his words carried in a strong whisper. “But you want to know something—a person never knows the meaning of love unless someone’s broken their heart.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SWEATY AND TIRED, Mark sat backward on a chair at the Blue Note, drinking a bottled water. He and a three-man crew were taking a lunch break from installing the sprinkler system. They’d added smoke detectors, as well.

  “You’ve got at least ten psi flowing through this, right?” Mark questioned while studying the open wood beam rafters above. The outdated network of sprinkler pipes and heads had been removed and the new equipment was being installed after lunch.

  Anything less than ten pounds per square inch would render a system inadequate because of deterioration in the water supply. Installation standards only contained minimums and Mark wanted to overkill on this job. Property insurance carriers often had more conservative standards than typical codes and local jurisdictions, so Mark wanted to make sure that after he was gone and Dana got her inspection, she wouldn’t be written up for any noncompliance issues again.

  “Absolutely can handle that,” one of the workers pronounced.

  Mark nodded, eating a grilled halibut sandwich on a French roll that Presley had fixed for the four of them. She’d come in early today to get things started in the kitchen. As always, she’d had a friendly smile for him and came across as genuine.

  Glancing at his watch, Mark noted it was just after eleven o’clock. He hoped to get the new pipes in before two when the bar opened for business. Since the brackets were already in place, the possibility was good they’d get it handled.

  Overall, he was happy with how things were progressing. The exit door had been cut out and installed, but was unusable until the exterior steel sections arrived by barge and the decking could be expanded. A skim coat was needed on the hallway to finish the drywall. Then it’d have to be painted. Mark hadn’t seen the requirement for widening the exit door hallway in Dana’s report and it chapped his hide. How would Dana have known that a twenty-four-inch opening needed to be three feet wide on an exit?

  Inspectors weren’t Mark’s favorite people. He knew they had a job to do, but he’d been red-tagged too many times in situations that needed attention yesterday. Some inspectors tagged for minutiae, and their fixation on a detail that was really nothing was annoying.

  One of the last things Mark hoped to repair before he left town was the building’s siding. Although not noted as a violation, the gray boards needed to be replaced or covered.

  Time was short. Both in Alaska and toward making a decision to stay with Moretti or not. Kyle had called yesterday and wanted to go over some ideas on restructuring. Mark didn’t mind the consult, and it had actually felt good to discuss something familiar. He knew the family business inside and out, and Kyle’s projections on future projects and the way he saw Moretti Construction going weren’t far off the mark. It made sense to get into management. But Mark still had no idea if he wanted to follow his family down that road.

  Working on the Blue Note had reminded him why he’d stuck with carpentry all these years. He enjoyed working with his hands, he enjoyed building things. The end result was satisfying and he could look at all he’d done and know it would be around for a while.

  He’d never minded shooting the bull with guys who strapped on tools all day and did the grunt work. He’d always liked sitting on a drywall stack, eating out of a lunch pail and talking about what needed to be done.

  Maybe somewhere down the road he’d lost his focus about this. He’d tried too hard to pull up in the ranks and be a Giovanni figure to the crew. In hindsight, Mark never would be his dad, nor should he have tried. He was his own man, with his own honed skills and weaknesses. Valuing his own abilities and talents should have been his priority. But he hadn’t. He’d doubted. He’d wanted more. And, in the end, he’d cheated his family by not showing gratitude for what he’d been given: the opportunity to master a family trade.

  Mark drank a soda pop.

  “How dis afternoon be for you, Boise carpenter?” Cardelle’s voice sliced through the room. “I’m stopping by to give you a holler, mon. See weh you are in dis place of changes.”

  Cardelle Kanhai strolled toward them, long-sleeved dress shirt and tie outfitting his thin-as-a-feather frame. His bald head gleamed as if it had been oiled after being freshly shaven. The color of his skin was like dark-roasted coffee beans, his teeth white and bright.

  Mark had grown fond of the guy. They’d spent time together at the bar over drinks and had discussed a variety of topics. Neither of them lived in Ketchikan permanently and that kind of set things up between them.

  Standing, Mark shook Cardelle’s hand when he reached them. “Making some headway.”

  With a wide arc of his berry-black gaze, Cardelle nodded. “You be jammin’ in no time, mon.”

  “Not so sure about how fast I’ll get her done, but we’re trying.” Mark acknowledged the three-man crew with him and gave each a quick introduction to Cardelle.

  Cardelle adjusted his salmon-print tie, his expression solemn. “My fadda, he be a great wall painter in Jamaica. I don’ know how you say it right. But maybe—wall pik’ tures.”

  “Pictures? You mean murals?”

  “Yah, mon. Dat is it. He show me how to do it, too. I paint on walls, as well.”

  Up to this point, Mark hadn’t thought about painting anything except the hallway expansion after it had been taped and textured. Dana had paint cans in the workroom to match the bar’s current color. The rest of the walls were in good shape.

  “You a pretty good artist, Card?” Mark asked, folding his arms over his chest.

  “I be fairly good. In fact, I’m one of de best.”

  “Then no offense—how come you’re selling bling? Why not paint murals for a living?”

  “How do you not know I do dis in my home country?”

  “I guess I don’t.”

  Cardelle flashed him a smile. “I jus’ be funning wid you, mon. Deh is not so much use for murals in my town, but more use here for de jew’ry to sell. America’s people—dey buy anything if you tell dem it is de best.”

  Smiling, Mark asked, “What’s your top seller?”

  “No doubt, de tanzanite. All ladies want it. And at my store I work at, we don’ samfy you, mon.”

  “Samfy?”

  “Dat is de word for ‘con.’ You can’t trust all de jew’ry stores in dis town, but you can trust Cardelle.” His full lips split into a broad grin. “I still give a discount for you.”

  Smiling back, Mark relented. “Maybe I’ll get something for my mom.”

  “Ah, for de madda, you buy pearls.” Card scratched the back of his smooth neck, taking one more look around. “Well, I best be going to work.”

  “See you, Card.”

  “Yah, mon. See you.”

  Mark finished his lunch, returned the plate to Presley and thanked her again for making him a sandwich. She gave him a happy face and claimed if she didn’t have a boyfriend, he’d have to look out.

  Back in the bar, Mark was buckling his tool belt on when Leo came toward him. “Hey, Moretti, I wasn’t kidding about the men’s john. That urinal sucks. The women’s latrine could use some help, too. Sink is plugged.”

  “It’s not a priority for me right now. But it’s on my list. They need to be handicap accessible and I’ll take a look at it when I can.”

  “You going to have all these pipes off the floor when we open?” Leo questioned, markedly glancing at the mess.

  “That’s the plan.” Mark began to move materials into place as one of the workers climbed a ladder.

  Leo turned, paused, then faced him once more. His dark hair, tightly curled, rested on his shoulders. The bridge of his brown nose w
as flat, his mouth wide. “Thanks for doing this for Dana. She does appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” Mark then immersed himself in getting those sprinklers in.

  Some time later, Dana came to the bar but headed straight for her office. Within a few minutes after her arrival, her mom arrived.

  Suni Jackson wasn’t a woman to screw around with. Mark got the feeling she was direct, had an opinion that she wouldn’t hesitate to share, but she was fair, and if she held you in her regard, it would be high. She had a spiritual nature about her, as if her beliefs were celestial and she burned incense or something.

  She was short in stature, but tall from the way her gaze could measure a person. That look she gave a guy could freeze steel if he didn’t live up to the standards she’d sought for her daughter. Mark was cool with that. Moms liked to give their opinions, but being the one Suni put under a magnifier didn’t sit well with Mark. He’d done all he could to be cordial at the parade, and he’d figured she’d think what she wanted to about him no matter what he did.

  So when he found her standing there staring at him, he gave her a friendly hello but didn’t initiate a conversation. He kept working from the ladder. Eventually, she moved forward and disappeared into Dana’s office.

  With ten minutes to spare before the Blue Note’s opening, the sprinklers had been put in, as well as the smoke detectors. Packing away his tools, Mark had been bent on one knee depositing things into a toolbox when Suni appeared.

  “Since Oscar died, I haven’t been in the bar very much,” she said wistfully as she gazed down at him. “There’s a continuous pulse of movement in here. Life has gone on without my husband. He lives within these walls, but I can’t see him.”

  Mark rose to his feet. “Have you heard your daughter play the sax?”

  “Many times.” Suni held her purse as if she needed to use it as a shield against the memories that must haunt her in the Blue Note. “She sounds like Oscar, though she doesn’t think she does.”

  “I’d agree with you.” Mark studied Suni’s face, searching for emotions he could read. She hid them well. “After my father died, it was hard for me to go in his work trailer, especially when I sat at his desk. But he’d want me to move forward, so I did.”

  “How long ago did he pass?”

  “Going on three years.”

  “Oscar’s been gone for nearly six.”

  “I hope it gets easier for you.” Then playing on something that Mark knew would bring a light into her face, he added, “You’ve got a grandson that’s a kick.”

  “Terran is my blessing.”

  “I could see that at the parade.”

  Suni cast her eyes down. She was obviously pondering the moment, then looked at him once more. “Why are you helping my daughter?”

  Giving her an easy smile, he said, “I’d’ve figured by now that you’d be onto me. I’m doing it so she’ll go out on a date. I’ve asked before and she turned me down flat. Kept asking her—still no dice. So I thought to myself, I’ll spend some time fixing up her place and then she’ll give me her undying love.”

  Without cracking the expression on her face, Suni said to him, “Give me a break. I know crap when I smell it.”

  Mark burst into a laugh. “Is that right?”

  “You’re doing this for her because you have to. Because it’s in you to do it.”

  “I guess you could say it’s something like that.”

  Coiling a power cord, Mark moved around Suni to gather the rest of his tools. He didn’t know how Suni had pegged him. Those eyes of hers drank in a lot more than Mark had guessed and she wasn’t as quiet as he’d initially thought. She had depth to her, and an understanding that he’d probably never figure out. His mom was a lot like that. Kind of stood back and observed, watched things unfold, then tallied it all inside her head and sorted things out.

  “Just don’t do anything to hurt her,” Suni cautioned, bringing Mark back to the present. “She’s been through too much. Stay on the path.”

  He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he knew he’d never mess with Dana’s head in a malicious manner. Tease and flirt with her, yes. But hurt, no.

  With his things put away, Mark was ready to go home—but before he left, he addressed Suni once more as he grabbed a cocktail napkin off the end of the bar. Using a pen from his jeans pocket, he said, “Here’s my mom’s phone number in Boise. Her name’s Mariangela. Call her. Ask her about me. Trust me, she’ll give you a straight answer.”

  Suni stared blankly at him. “What would I ask?”

  “Whatever’s on your mind.” Mark stalled before handing Suni the phone number. “Better yet, do you have a computer?”

  “Yes.”

  Mark scribbled another line on the napkin. “She just got an e-mail address and she doesn’t have a lot of people to write to. Go ahead and send her your best shot. I honestly don’t mind.”

  Taking the napkin, Suni stood there and didn’t reply. For the first time since meeting her, she seemed at a loss.

  “Don’t worry about it. She’s a nice lady. She’ll be thrilled to have someone to talk to. You have things in common with her.”

  Without another word, Mark gathered his tools and headed for his rental truck. After stowing his gear, he sat behind the wheel and didn’t immediately turn the key. He gazed at the marina, watching the boats and seagulls.

  Taking a few minutes, he replayed the conversation with Suni in his head. Before he could counter his decision, he climbed out of the truck and made his way to Jewels of the Nile.

  Laid out in a tight rectangular shape, the store was small and cramped with lit cases of sparkling jewelry. Five clerks manned the counter, three of which were busy with customers from the cruise ships. A fourth rang an order at the register. The fifth was the man Mark wanted to see.

  Cardelle lit up like one of the cases, bright faced and with eyes that were glittering black jewels. “So, hey, mon. You come for de pearls.”

  “No, Card, not today.”

  “De tanzanite?”

  “Nope.”

  Cardelle’s dark face waited expectantly. “Okay den, we have de jade earrings, gold necklaces, ruby rings and de sterling silver to not make your skin turn tarnish.”

  “Sorry—none of that.” Mark moved in toward the semiprecious stones display where the Jamaican stood reed thin and proud of the goods within.

  “What den?”

  “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  THERE WAS NO DOUBT about it—Dana had been avoiding Mark. She came to this conclusion by Thursday after not talking with him for the past five days. At first, she reconciled that she’d been busy in her office and she hadn’t run into him. Then she recognized that she had made sure she wasn’t around when he came in at night for conversation at the bar. She had places to be, things to do.

  But the truth came to her this afternoon as she’d watched him work in the bar. He hadn’t been able to see her as her gaze followed his every move. She’d held back in the hallway leading to her office. In that moment of hiding, she knew she’d done whatever she could to avoid a confrontation with him.

  More important—she knew why.

  He’d been right on target about her. She’d been hurt in love, and she ran from feelings about anyone else. Since Cooper broke her heart, she hadn’t gotten close to another man. Saturday at Burger Queen when Mark accused her of not wanting to deal with things, she’d been in denial and thought for sure he was wrong.

  But he’d been right.

  Dread filled her soul. She couldn’t let one man alter her life or its direction. Especially not Mark Moretti. She knew better than to get involved with a lower-forty-eighter on vacation. Even though Mark was charming and different, the end result would be the same. Here today, gone tomorrow.

  The fact that she’d felt herself growing emotionally entangled had been a wake-up call and she’d probably used Tori as the excuse to get out of that situation quickly.

  So what to do about it n
ow?

  Mark came to the bar every day for hours and worked so hard. She had begun to feel guilty, as if she were not only taking advantage of his money but his physical time and energy. The least she could do was be cordial, grateful. Express her thanks and gratitude.

  Instead, she’d holed herself off in various corners of the Blue Note, avoiding him at all costs. This wasn’t her method of dealing with men. She’d never run before. Most definitely never hid.

  So today she decided to confront the situation head-on and she searched for Mark midday to ask him a question. However, it was difficult for her to form a plan of action, or just how she’d ask him. After running several scenarios in her head, she opted to wing it.

  She found Mark outside with steel pieces that had been on a delivery truck that morning to the Blue Note. She had no idea what they were for, but assumed Mark knew.

  The day was gray and overcast; a light drizzle had been in the air since sunrise. Without bothering with her coat or hat, she went through the front door and headed directly toward him.

  “Mark, I need to talk to you,” she said, almost too loudly.

  He raised his chin, his eyes friendly and warm as soon as he saw her approaching. She never tired of the way his whole facial expression could smile without his mouth even moving.

  “Look who decided to pay a call,” he drawled, rising from the stacks of steel.

  His denim jeans fit him in an indecently sexy way in the butt, and a long-sleeved T-shirt draped his chest in white with a logo for some electrical company. A short tear at the elbow revealed his skin and a barely discernible cut where he must have bumped into something sharp. Even in work clothes, she found him more than appealing.

  “I’ve been busy this week.”

  “Busy lurking,” he replied, infuriating her that he could be so intuitive.

  “I don’t lurk.”

  “What do you call peeking at me from the edge of your office door? Hiding behind the bar when I’m at the front of the building? Or conveniently heading for the kitchen when I’m coming down the hallway?”

  She had no response that would satisfy him because the truth was the truth and she had done all of those things. Frustration gave her pause, and she wondered if it had been a bad idea to make an attempt to communicate with Mark.