The early Mass at St. Michael started at seven thirty; they were among the tiny handful attending. Frank did his best to stay unobtrusive, but when Briar Rose glanced at him during the hymns he realized how enthusiastically he'd been singing.
"They're songs of worship, not show tunes," she chided in a whisper. "You've got a nice tenor but the good Lord's not taking your audition just yet."
"Just feeling . . . jubilant," Frank mumbled, but he toned it down with a wry grin. Certainly he felt he had a lot to be thankful for at the moment. After the service he and Briar Rose shook the priest's hand as they left the church.
"Nice to hear the back row keeping up, hymn-wise," Father Harold beamed at Frank. "Shows me you're awake. Come to think of it, keeps ME awake! New to the area?"
"Vacationers," Briar Rose told him. "But we plan on visiting regularly."
"Oh good, good—everyone's always welcome!" Father Harold assured them before turning to greet another parishioner. They headed to the rental car, and Briar Rose gave a little sigh.
"Last day. What would you like to do, sweetheart?"
"A little more of everything we've been doing," came his contented reply.
They headed out again to the beach, and this time Frank handed the fishing rod to his wife. "You give it a shot," he told her. "It's only fair."
Briar Rose gave him a bright-eyed look. "You're trusting me to fling a sharp barb around?"
Just to tease her he pretended to hesitate. "Okay, maybe this wasn't a good idea-"
She snorted, proceeded to bait the hooks, ceremonially spit, and walk to the water's edge as Frank watched. Lightly Briar Rose cast, sending the bait and weight arcing out just beyond the break line of the waves.
"Atta girl," Frank told her, settled back into the beach chair, reaching for his book.
For a good twenty minutes everything was peaceful. A man and a dog walked by, the dog veering over to Frank for a sniffing and a petting. A few seagulls landed and eyed the bait can. The waves rolled in and slid out again in the slow heartbeat of the ocean. A few more people were out now, mostly further down the beach.
Frank considered having a cigar. He was about to check the pocket of his windbreaker when he heard the hard 'zing' of line and a frightened yell. Frank saw Briar Rose pitch forward, barely catching her balance. The pole in her hands was bending hard and he jolted up out of his chair, running to her, wrapping his arms around her. "Hold on!"
"I'm trying!" she yelled breathlessly. "Damn it!"
Frank braced his hands over hers, gripping the pole, feeling the hard pull of whatever was on the other end of the line. The tension on the monofilament was straining hard, and he released the bail, letting line run free with another zinging sound thrumming up the pole. "We'll tire him out," he told Briar Rose. "Let him run and crank him in slowly. This one's big," Frank added knowingly. "Maybe bigger than anything this line was meant for."
"Nearly yanked the rod out of my hands," she agreed, digging her bare feet in and bracing back against Frank.
They worked their catch together slowly, cranking in a few feet, letting it out again every few minutes, and Frank found himself talking soothingly to Briar Rose as he did so. "We have the advantage. The hook's set, and while the fish may be fighting it, we're not the ones panicking here. Slow and steady, bring it in a little more each time . . . Did we bring the net?"
"It's inside the cooler," Briar Rose reminded him. "Want me to get it?"
"Not just yet," Frank kept his eye on the point where the line entered the water. "We've got a little while with this beast."
Oddly, despite the initial fear, it felt almost fun to be wrapped around Briar Rose, working the fish into the shallows. She was lean and strong, and almost as excited as he was. Almost.
"My palms are cramping," she muttered. "Good thing I didn't have my thumb on the line."
"True," Frank agreed. "All right, it's been about a quarter of an hour- let's start reeling in click by click. We'll keep it steady."
Turn by turn they drew the line in, and the struggles lessened with the sharp tugs coming less often. Finally the dark shape passed from the wave line into the upslope of the beach, and Briar Rose squealed.
"Oh. Dear. God that is a SHARK!" she called out, bouncing. Frank turned his face so she didn't hit his nose with the back of her head.
"Makes sense. Let's get it up on the beach . . ."
A few people were running over now, and Frank worried someone would get hurt, but instead, a young man offered to help, fetching the net, and keeping everyone else back. By Frank's quick estimate the shark, which looked to be some sort of rounded hammerhead, was at least four and a half feet long.
"Ya'll caught a bonnethaid!" The young man announced. "Thass a feast rat there! Good feelays on a bonnethaid!"
"Needs to be dispatched," Frank commented, but the young man was ready.
"Lorena, grab my nail gun, baby!" he waved to a young woman who raced away and back again within a minute, holding out the tool to him. "Less drop a towel over him so he won't thrash so much. They're not biters, but they do wiggle."
Frank was impressed with how quickly the young man managed to straddle the fish and press the gun to the right spot; how quickly the shark went slack. He looked at the young man, who looked up at him and gave a shrug.
"Hate to see 'em suffer," he murmured. "They're God's creatures too, ya know?"
"Yes," Frank agreed. "I'm just impressed you had . . ." he waved at the nail gun.
"Was in my truck. I do odd jobs," he replied sunnily. "So . . . ya'll otter get a pitcher before cutting this big boy up."
They did, holding up the shark between them; afterwards Briar Rose got to work with the knife and the cutting board.
The young man with the nail gun nodded. "Ah, jest a tip—don't rinse off in the ocean if you can help it. Use the run-off from the ice in your cooler here in the sand. And just berry them guts at the high tide line, or leave 'em out for the gulls. Don't want to bring in any more sharks in rat now, not with young'uns swimmin around."
Frank nodded. "Would you like a few fillets?"
"Wouldn't say no," the young man grinned. "And thank yew!"
It was only after they'd given part of the catch to the young man who'd carried if off happily and were cleaning the rest of the shark that Frank saw Briar Rose hold up a globby bit of innards.
"Stomach," she murmured. "I think. Something in there is kind of . . . hard."
"Fish bones," he guessed. "Other fishing lures and weights maybe."
"One way to find out," Briar Rose murmured and deftly slit it open in a way that reminded Frank that yes, he'd married a surgeon. She dug a grimy finger inside and scooped out something flat followed by something long and slimy.
"Huh. It's . . . a necklace."
After rinsing it off though, Frank saw it wasn't. The heavy oval disc gleamed in the sunlight, and the image of the bearded man on the gold chain made it clear what it was. Reverently he held it up, feeling a sense of wonderment at this serendipity.
"Saint Andrew," he murmured to Briar Rose.
She thought hard. "Patron saint of-"
"Fishermen," Frank told her quietly.
Briar Rose looked at the medal and then back at Frank, blue eyes wide. "There's a reason this happened," she told him, half amused, half serious. "And I know a sign when I see it. Sweetheart, you need to wear that when you go fishing from now on."
"You caught the fish," Frank pointed out.
"I only hooked it-you landed it," she countered patiently. "And you are the fisherman, so you need the protection more."
She held his gaze and after a moment, Frank slipped the medal into his pocket, caught up in the solemn mystery.
-oo00oo-
"Earrings for Erin, Nicky and Eddie; tee-shirts for Sean, Jack, Danny and Jamie and for your father . . ." Briar Rose held out a box of alligator jerky before returning it to the suitcase she was packing.
Frank looked from the box to her, his dimples flashing. "You're serious."
"Why not? Even if he never tries it, just having it is pretty cool," Briar Rose countered. "Come on! I have a family now; I want to spoil them!"
He gave an indulgent shrug. "Your prerogative of course. You'd think becoming part-owners in a million-dollar beach house might be enough . . ."
"Pfft! That's not the same as getting a little present," she argued. "What would you like as a souvenir?"
"I already have a few," Frank reminded her with a knowing glance. "Including some pretty incendiary memories, of brat of mine. We need to get moving though, if we want to make our flight."
They finished packing and dropped off the key with Langdon, who took it and told them he was already working on the trust paperwork. As Frank headed the rental car towards Jacksonville, Briar Rose gave a gusty sigh. "So . . . this was so wonderful."
He nodded. "Yes. Wrapped up the business in Cherry Hollow, and this unexpected bonus here in Florida turned into the best vacation I've had in years."
"All because a spiteful old relative made a good investment," Briar Rose rolled her eyes. "I guess it's true—there's a silver lining in every cloud."
"Clouds break," Frank replied. "Eventually you see what's behind them. I'm sorry that Harriet wasn't a better person, but we can enjoy what she's left us."
"Amen," Briar Rose agreed.
-oo00oo-
The first Sunday dinner back was pot roast; Briar Rose and Sean made it with oversight from Henry and hopeful mooching looks from George. After grace, once everyone had settled in passing rolls and potatoes and green beans, Frank lightly cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention.
"Briar Rose got everyone a few souvenirs," he murmured, "even though I tried to talk her out of it."
That got a few chuckles; at the other end of the table, his wife gave him a mild glare.
"But there's more. You all saw the pictures and videos we sent-"
"—man, that shark one!" Sean interjected, only to blush. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Go on, Grandpa."
"Of the beach house she inherited from her . . . aunt," Frank went on. "She and I wanted to let you know that it's now ours. ALL of ours," he added. "Every person at this table who is over twenty-one now has an eighth share in it."
Quick pandemonium. Everyone tried to talk at once, and Frank met Briar Rose's giggly gaze down the long length of the table. She rose up, drawing everyone's attention and waited for the noise to die down.
"You're my family," Briar Rose told them. "Call it . . . I don't know, a belated dowry I guess. Your father and I had a lovely time there, and I want all of you to enjoy it as well. When we're not down there it will be bringing in income so that's a bonus."
"But that's so . . ." Erin began, looking a little overwhelmed.
And Nicky chimed up. "Thank you," she blurted.
A chorus of 'thank yous' went around the table, and Briar Rose blinked back a few tears.
"You're welcome," she told them. "Now let's eat so you can get to the tacky presents in the living room over pie."
She sat down, looking once again up the table to see Frank gazing back at her, his expression tender.
"Succotash," he mouthed at her before starting in on his potatoes.