Something To Treasure. Virginia McCullough

voices, but Bill was obviously trying to muffle the sound, so she couldn’t understand what was being said.

      “Uh, Carla wanted me to ask if you’re certain you’ll get here tonight,” Bill said when he came back on the line.

      She wouldn’t let her irritation bleed through. “I’ll be there, Bill. I had planned everything pretty much down to the minute. But the plan went awry. I can explain when I get there.”

      “It’s just that Zinnie has been fussy the last few days. Carla thinks she’s teething. Gordon’s spent most of his time making faces to try to distract her.”

      “Sounds nice, Bill,” she whispered. Unwittingly, he’d painted a simple picture of what was going on in his house, and she envied it all out of proportion. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

      Why was she eating humble pie? Their arrangements almost always revolved around Carla, especially with the new baby. Not so new. She was already ten months old. And probably crawling into everything, Dawn thought, trying to be fair. But when it came to Bill and Carla, nothing seemed fair.

      When she ended the call, Dawn walked to the waiting room and tried to recapture the excitement of the conference, especially winning an award. It was the first time she’d been recognized for work by her colleagues in the public relations industry. To top it off, she’d landed a new client, who also happened to be an interesting, attractive man. Well, more than that. Bringing his face to mind, movie star handsome seemed to fit. She gave her head a little chastising shake. Stop, stop it right now.

      She opened her tablet and began transferring her handwritten notes and sprinkling in the new ideas springing into her head. She started a separate file for her estimates of Jerrod’s initial expenses, mainly the cost of the ads and his brochures. She sent an email to Ian Shepherd, the photographer she’d used for her fitness center client. She was crossing her fingers that he had some free hours in his schedule. He had a great eye for design and he’d done brochures for sleek sailboats, too.

      The email to Ian sent, Dawn indulged in a grumpy sigh. She’d been “on” all weekend, but she’d run out of steam. Missing the train and the obligatory apology to Bill left her deflated. But then her thoughts flipped back to her meeting with Jerrod in the hotel lobby. He had such serious gray eyes, but they occasionally surprised her with flashes of warmth. Sure, he’d been all business in demeanor, but she’d enjoyed the easy way he answered her questions. And he’d showed hints of passion about his life on the water. Like it was a calling, not only a business. But what had happened to his wife, she wondered, and would he tell her?

      When her thoughts circled back to the present, the letdown returned, particularly when it came to Bill and his cozy new life. He’d left her four years ago, announcing it one cold January night after what Dawn had naively believed were their best holidays ever, starting with the huge Thanksgiving open house for a few dozen family and friends and ending with a quiet New Year’s Eve spent with their next-door neighbors and their three kids.

      No wonder she was surprised that night when Bill said he needed to talk. She’d only been mildly concerned when they sat down together at the kitchen table, because she’d assumed his mood had something to do with office politics. But, not wasting a second, Bill opened their conversation by saying, “I want a divorce.”

      She froze in place, stunned and silent. When she at last found her voice the first words she uttered were, “But we’ve been talking about having a baby. A couple of weeks ago. In the car. It was Christmas Eve.”

      Bill had run his fingers through his prematurely gray hair and did her the courtesy of confirming their conversation about a second child wasn’t a figment of her imagination. In fact, her desire to have another baby was why he considered it imperative to own up to what had happened. He’d fallen in love with Carla, a colleague at the insurance company where he worked as an actuary. He was sorry, he’d said. So sorry.

      Right.

      Dawn had descended into crushing grief, but ultimately worked through it and moved on with a vengeance, starting with her business. In the first twelve months of living as a single mom, she’d doubled her business income. In the second twelve months, she’d begun dating. Mixed results for sure, including with Chip, the man she’d hoped could be her second chance. At first, he’d claimed to be enthusiastic about having a child if their relationship blossomed, but he showed zero interest in Gordon. Not exactly stepdad material. She’d collected all the warning signs she needed, but it still hurt to give up on what at the beginning seemed like a promising relationship.

      Sitting alone in the waiting room at the train station, she tried mightily to ignore those thoughts. For all her so-called adjustment to life after her difficult divorce, Dawn hadn’t allowed herself to think that Bill and Carla would have a baby of their own. Why had that been so difficult to accept?

      As if she didn’t know.

      Carla was living the life she’d wanted—expected—for herself. That was the heartbreaking truth. It was as if an imposter had stepped in and taken over Dawn’s life.

      Tired of sitting, she stood and slung the attaché over her shoulder and left the waiting room. Still an hour to go. She needed to move, walk, observe, absorb. She wouldn’t lift her mood sitting alone, thinking about little teething Zinnie.

       Chapter Three

      HOLDING CARRIE’S HAND, Jerrod pointed to the boat tied up at the dock on the blustery April day. “See? Rob and Wyatt got here safe and sound.”

      The two waved at Carrie from the stern of the Lucy Bee. Jerrod greeted Nelson White, the owner of the boatyard-marina, who he’d dealt with on the phone over a period of several weeks. Nelson stood at the end of the dock dressed for winter in a knit hat and heavy gloves. So far, Dawn’s weather prediction for the week had played out exactly as she’d described: cold and mostly rainy. Count on miserable, she’d warned Jerrod the day before he drove up and checked into the hotel. In his texted reply he’d teased her about being a meteorologist on the side. He enjoyed teasing her, maybe because she laughed so easily at even his lame remarks.

      Nelson pointed to the Lucy Bee, a seventy-foot passenger ferry designed to take guests out on day tours along the coast and to the sites of wrecks. “Nice-looking,” he said. “We don’t have nearly enough of these excursion boats down our way. Most of them cluster up a little north of us in Sturgeon Bay. I’m glad to see you set up shop here in Two Moon Bay.”

      Jerrod nodded, pleased at Nelson’s response. Lucy Bee had started her life as a ferry and later was converted to a tour boat on the Mississippi, but Jerrod liked to think he was giving the vessel a third incarnation on Lake Michigan. Rob suggested changing the boat’s name to something more distinguished, maybe, but Jerrod had nixed that idea. He didn’t consider himself a superstitious man, but as far back as he could remember he’d been warned that changing the name of a boat was asking for trouble. He couldn’t shake the notion that boats of any kind were alive in their way. That meant the Lucy Bee started her life with a name of her own, and that’s how it should stay.

      “I’m eager to get the business moving,” Jerrod said, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his head to ward off the rising wind. At least the rain had stopped for the moment.

      Nelson motioned with his chin at the water. “All well and good, but you still have a few weeks before it’s fit to take people out there. It’s only April, man. It can be raw up here even in May. Most folks won’t put their boats in the water ’til close to Memorial Day.”

      “I know. Dawn Larsen, who’s doing some promotion for me, warned me that the weather can be iffy all the way to Memorial Day and into June.” At Dawn’s suggestion, Jerrod was adding an all-caps line to his brochure about bringing along jackets and hats. Dawn suggested taking one more step and keeping a backup supply of sweatshirts and caps in a storage bin.

      Nelson gestured to the empty space behind the tour boat. “When we get your dive boat in the water this afternoon, we’ll