Authors: Patricia Watters
***
"
Two months on the Isadora with him! That sucks!"
Mike slipped out of the dinette, scaled the ladder leading from the galley up
to the salon, and marched outside. He stood with his hands on the railing,
gazing at the boat house. From behind the closed door to the fo'c'sle, Katy
barked.
Nellie followed
Mike and stood beside him. "It probably won't be for more than a
month," Nellie said. "Then we'll have the boat all to
ourselves."
"But it's
our boat," Mike groused. "I don't know why he has to come."
"He has to
run it. Besides, technically it's his boat for the next two months, and he's
been nice enough to let us stay on it. He doesn't have to do that, you
know," Nellie said, struggling to hold her patience. But of course Mike
was upset. He'd been uprooted again, he'd left his friends behind, he'd be starting
a new school, and on a small scale, his life was in as much turmoil as hers.
But once he was back in school he'd make new friends, and she'd get him
involved with scouts, and the
Isadora
would be brought back to its former glory, and life would be good again. At
least as good as it could be without Richard. But a job would help keep her
mind off things...
"Why don't
we go back to Medford until he's done with it?" Mike asked.
Nellie sighed.
"Because we have no apartment to go to and we can stay here free."
When Mike started to turn, Nellie grabbed his arm and said, in a firm voice,
"It’s time for you to get ready for bed. I don't want you wandering around
here after dark."
"But
Mom!"
"Do as I
say!" Nellie snapped. "I'm in no mood to argue." She hated their
confrontations, which seemed to come more frequently of late. Much of it was
Mike's reaction to her edginess over their situation, the seemingly
insurmountable financial burdens coupled with the fact that someone might have
followed them to Port Townsend, for whatever reason. But maybe it was time to
set aside that notion since there was no plausible reason why someone should.
While Mike was
getting ready for bed, Nellie looked out the window and saw a light on in
Will's apartment. She wondered what he did evenings. She also wondered if there
was a woman in his life. She'd seen no signs in his apartment. Just Will and
his cat, and a boathouse apartment that was bare of anything but necessities.
Actually, she wondered if there was anyone in his life. She'd seen no sign of
visitors, and she got the impression he was a loner. Even going out to sea to
study whales was a solitary undertaking.
Deciding it was
counterproductive to spend the evening speculating about a man who'd be out of
her life in a few weeks, she decided to go out on the wharf and get some fresh
air, and watch the sunset. But on a whim, before leaving, she removed the band
that caught her hair at her nape and ran her fingers through her hair to fluff
it around her face, then stepped onto the deck and ventured through the side
door of the boathouse.
While standing
on the wharf, she looked toward the row of stalwart buildings that lined the
waterfront. The fiery-red sky from the setting sun reflected as copper in the
wavy windows of the century-old structures. She looked at the quaint Victorian
cottages and stately mansions lining the high bluff overlooking Port Townsend
Bay, then scanned the panorama seaward, where jewel-like islands rose from the
waters of Admiralty Inlet against a backdrop of mountains. She felt an odd
sense of belonging. This place, with its natural beauty and strong sense of
history, would provide an environment in which she could build a new life for
herself and Mike....
"One of
the benefits of living on the water—" a deep voice interrupted her musings
"—an unobstructed view of sunset."
Nellie turned
and looked at Will. Ocher light of dusk flooded his face and shone as tiny
lights in his eyes. Her gaze slid down to fix on a pair of masculine lips that
curved in a crooked but very appealing smile. Since he didn't smile much, his
smile seemed special. She also decided he had a very sensual mouth, a thought
she found both tantalizing... and unsettling...
Will propped
his forearm against the boathouse and appeared to be studying her. She said
nothing, just stood waiting for him to speak. When he finally did, he said,
"I like the color of your hair at sunset. It looks like fireweed
honey."
Nellie blinked
several times. Whatever else she might have expected from Will Edenshaw, it was
not admiration. But maybe she'd been wanting it when she impulsively pulled the
band out of her hair, then ventured into Will's domain. She couldn't deny his
nearness made her heart beat a little faster. And from the warmth creeping up
her face she knew it was flushed. "Actually
it's
dishwater blond," she said, unnerved. "But even we dishwater blonds
have our moments of glory when the sun's setting."
Will gathered a
lock of hair and let it slip through his fingers. "No, you're not a
dishwater blond," he said, toying with her hair. "Definitely not
dishwater."
His gesture
stirred in Nellie longings she wasn't prepared to deal with. "Please don't
do that," she said, unsettled with their nearness. He released her hair,
but when he dropped his hand, a sense of loneliness settled over her, a
desolate kind of emptiness that made her feel alone and vulnerable. And right
now she needed strength for herself, and for her son. Holding that thought, she
turned and fled to the security of the
Isadora
.
To her dismay,
Nellie learned that her van needed a new transmission. After pondering whether
to pay for repairs or sell the van for junk, she opted on selling. There were
no dealers in Port Townsend interested in buying, but the mechanic was willing
to take it off her hands for parts and the new tires she'd only recently had
mounted. But she needed the money desperately, so she accepted his offer. Since
she'd paid for a mini-storage in Medford for six months, she’d deal with the
problem of transporting their belongings to Port Townsend later.
Around the
corner from the motel, she saw that the tan sedan with the Oregon license plate
was parked in the same location. It looked as if it hadn't been moved. Feeling
foolish, and assuming it belonged to someone living in the house near where it
was parked, she decided to give it no further thought. There were more
important things to worry about, like the fact that without her van she was
dependent on Will to transfer her belongings from the van to the boathouse, and
he'd also have to take her to the job interviews she'd scheduled for that
afternoon.
Of the phone
calls she'd made the day before in response to job listings in the newspaper, a
doctor, an attorney, and the curator of the museum were open to interviewing a
bookkeeper on short notice. She had no expectation of stepping into a
high-paying job. Port Townsend was definitely not a city in the path of
progress. But she counted on the picturesque old seaport having a lower cost of
living to compensate for a low salary.
Standing in the
master stateroom two hours later, she studied herself in the long narrow mirror
on the locker door. Her navy blue pant suit was rumpled, and her black heels
were scuffed, but that couldn’t be helped. Nor was she ready to be interviewed.
But she had no choice. Although her survivor benefits and unemployment helped
offset expenses, after making the monthly payments to her cell phone service,
the dentist for her root canal, and the agency that consolidated her debts,
what remained would barely cover minimal living expenses. And she had less than
eight-hundred dollars in her savings.
Brushing her
hair vigorously, she caught it at her nape and fastened it with a clip, hoping
to appear competent and businesslike,
a
picture of
office efficiency.
"Mom!"
A series of sharp raps accompanied Mike's voice. "When are we going?"
"In a few
minutes, honey," Nellie called through the door. "Wait in Mr.
Edenshaw's truck."
She heard a few
disgruntled words from Mike that sounded suspiciously like words on his
"forbidden word" list, but decided to let it pass. Later, they'd have
a mother-son talk about his recent behavior, and his dubious vocabulary.
When she
stepped on deck she found Will standing on the dock across from her, and as she
walked toward him, the admiring look in his eyes made her heart quicken.
Grasping his extended hand, she stepped from the boat to the dock, balancing on
high heels. Feeling Will's fingers curl warmly around hers, she glanced up to
find him smiling. "You look nice," he said. "If I were
interviewing you'd be hired."
Nellie smiled
back. "But do I look business-like?" she asked.
Will gave her
hand a squeeze before releasing it, and replied, "You look like someone a
lecherous boss would chase around the office."
Nellie laughed,
enjoying Will's oblique compliment. It was a light side of him she hadn't seen.
Looking askance at him, she said as they walked toward the parking lot,
"While I'm at my interview, could Mike stay with you? I won't be
long." When Will didn't respond, she looked at him. The humor of moments
before had vanished. "I'm sorry," she said, "I shouldn't have
asked you to do that. Mike will be fine with me."
It was another
few moments before Will said, in a voice that had lost all its humor, "I
doubt you could give it your best with the boy tagging along, so yeah, he can
stay with me."
"Are you
sure?" Nellie asked, uneasy with his hesitation, and his tone.
"No
problem," Will assured her. At lease in that, Will sounded confident.
"Thanks,"
she said. "That's a big worry off my mind."
As they
approached Will's pickup, Mike promptly hopped out, forcing Nellie to sit in
the middle. Will slipped behind the wheel, and Nellie was at once aware of his
arm pressed against her shoulder, and his thigh moving against her leg as he
propped his foot on the accelerator. "Where to?" he asked.
"The
museum, my first interview," Nellie replied. "My next
interview's
just down the block, so I'll walk there. Then
I'll take a cab to the last interview, which is close to the marina. I can walk
back to the boathouse from there." She was a little concerned about
leaving Mike with Will so she'd try to keep the interviews short, but even if
they ran over, she doubted Mike would challenge Will.
Knowing she
couldn't put off telling Mike any longer, she said to him, "You'll be
staying with Mr. Edenshaw during my interviews, but it won't be for long."
Mike shot
daggers at her. "Why can't I come with you?"
"Because
you can't come into the interview with me, I won't give a good interview if I'm
worried about what you're doing. Besides, you'd have a better time with Mr.
Edenshaw."
"I don't
want to go with him," Mike whined.
"I'm
sorry, Mike, but you have no choice," Nellie said.
Mike folded his
arms and set his mouth in a pout. And Nellie said nothing.
Which bugged the
hell out of Will. She let the boy get away with far too much. He also had no
idea what to expect once he was alone with Mike. It was obvious what the kid
thought of him. But Mike was, after all, just a kid, and not a very big one at
that. Certainly he could handle one pint-sized adversary for an hour or two.
He let Nellie
off at the museum and watched her walk toward the entrance. But as soon as the
museum door closed behind her, Mike opened the truck door to leave. "Where
do you think you're going?" Will asked.
"I'm
splitting." Mike climbed out of the truck.
Will threw open
his door and dashed around the truck, grabbing Mike by the arm as the boy
started down the street. "Whoa there," he said. "I told your
mother I'd look after you and that's what I intend to do."
Mike tugged on
his arm. "You can't tell me what to do. You're not my father."
"I am
telling you what to do," Will said in a firm voice. "Now get in the
truck so I don't have to pick you up and dump you inside."
"You
wouldn't dare."
"Try
me."
"I'll
scream."
"Go
ahead."
Mike glared at
Will, his blue eyes deepening. "I hope the whales eat you."
"Whales
don't eat people. Now, get in the truck." Will released Mike's arm,
testing him. Mike looked down the street, primed for his getaway. "I
wouldn't do it if I were you," Will said. "I can out-run you any day,
and when I catch you, you won't look very big tucked under my arm with your
butt in the air. Now get in the truck or I'll put you in there myself." He
started to move toward Mike, and Mike quickly turned and climbed back inside.
At the marine
supply store Mike begrudgingly followed Will inside then stood with a dour look
on his face while Will made several purchases. Once back in the truck, however,
Mike fixed smoldering eyes on Will, and said, "How come you don't like
dogs?"
Will suspected
this was some kind of test. "I never said I didn’t like dogs."
"But you
don't," Mike insisted. "You make us keep Katy tied up. I don't see
what's so great about cats anyway. Name one thing they can do better than dogs."
"For
starters they land on their feet when dropped," Will said, "and they
can creep through brush without making noise, and they're better at finding
hiding places."
"That's no
big deal," Mike said.
"Maybe
not, but it helps them survive. And they have exceptional hearing. Their ears
turn in the direction of a sound at least twice as fast as the best
watchdog's."
Mike pursed his
lips. "They can't bark like a watchdog, so what good is that?"
"You may
have a point there," Will admitted. "I guess we should appreciate
cats for cats and dogs for dogs. Katy's a very nice dog," he added.
"And Zeke's nice too, but sometimes he can be pretty stuck-up. He thinks
humans are big dumb creatures, slow and clumsy since we can't pounce or swipe
with claws. He also thinks it's backward that we can't see in the dark or find
our way home without a map. Have you heard of Mark Twain?"