While Jack helped Bert Snell up the ramp as before, one slow and easy step at a time, Senna settled Ida in the living room for a before-dinner drink and to tell her story in front of the fire. Then she sat at the dining-room table for over an hour and a half reveling in the magic of her day, describing to Bert the birds she’d seen in great detail, and Senna was left wondering why Jack had abruptly disappeared after delivering Bert to the living room.
At 9:00 p.m. Goody shooed her out of the kitchen with a firm, “Better go on down and check on the byes,” and Senna, who had finally figured out that byes meant boys, was able to carry a plate of food down to the cabin. Charlie was sitting outside on the wall bench, the natural light still bright enough to be able to read by. “Hanson’s asleep,” he said as she approached. “I fed the dogs for him.”
“Thank you, Charlie. That was good of you.” Senna entered the cabin and set the plate onto the table. Jack was sprawled face down on his bunk like a dead man, but at least he’d changed out of his wet jeans before hitting the mattress. “Jack?” He mumbled something unintelligible but didn’t move. She shook his shoulder. “Jack!”
His eyes opened. He blinked, then rolled slowly onto his back with a low groan. “Do you know how much a sixteen-foot aluminum boat weighs when it’s full of water? Just shoot me,” he said. “Put me out of my misery.”
“My goodness, Jack. Wasn’t it just yesterday you told me that guiding wasn’t a hard job? Sit up. I brought you something to eat. Charlie!” she shot over her shoulder. Charlie appeared in the doorway. “Is there any whiskey in this cabin?”
Charlie pointed to the open shelf behind the stove where all the dry goods were kept, then went back outside. Senna retrieved the bottle, poured a slug into a coffee cup and pressed the cup into Jack’s hand. He sat slumped over the edge of the bunk, shoulders rounded and head ducked. “I screwed up. I wasn’t paying attention and we ran onto a rock.”
“Drink the whiskey,” Senna said.
“I screwed up,” he repeated.
“Nobody’s perfect,” Senna said. “Besides, you gave Ida the adventure of a lifetime.”
“She’s a sweetheart of a woman and I could have killed her. She might have drowned and if she had, her husband would have died, too, because they’re so in love I doubt one could live without the other.”
“Oh, Jack.” He looked so forlorn that as Senna took the cup from him she had to resist the urge to kiss him. “She didn’t drown, she had a wonderful time and she told me she can’t wait to go fishing with you again.”
He moaned. “You should see the size of the crack in the bottom of the Lund. I’ll have to fix it before tomorrow morning. We don’t have a spare boat and everyone’ll want to fish the dawn hatch. I have to fix the damn thing tonight.”
“First you have to eat.” She set the cup of whiskey on the table beside his plate of food. “Come on. Set to it before it gets cold.”
LATER, LYING ON HER BUNK and listening to Goody’s thunderous snores, Senna wondered how Jack planned to mend the boat’s hull. If he couldn’t, that would leave them with another problem; all those clients to take fishing and only one boat. At 1:00 a.m. she left the cook’s cabin and headed for the lodge’s couch, but turned when she heard a thump down on the dock. A glowing lantern revealed Jack working on the boat. He’d hauled it out of the water and was squatting on his heels and doing something to the hull.
She altered course and walked down the ramp. He glanced up at her approach. “Almost done,” he said.
“How did you fix it?”
“I was going to rivet the seam back together but I taped it instead with aluminum aircraft tape. Should be good as new until I hit another rock. What the hell are you doing up at this hour?”
“Heading for the couch again.”
Jack rose to his feet, wiping his hands on a rag. “No doubt your job in Maine will seem like an endless vacation after the past few weeks. Not only are you working sixteen hours a day, but you can’t even get a good night’s sleep.” He sounded discouraged, which surprised Senna.
“I’ll survive. It’s only for a little while longer.”
He stared at her. In the lamplight his eyes were dark hollows in his face. “Ida and Bert Snell have been married for fifty-two years.”
“I know. She told me.”
“And they’re still as much in love as they were in high school.”
Senna smiled. “True love really does exist.”
“If she’d fallen out of the boat…”
“Jack, she didn’t. You’ve had a rough day. Things’ll look better in the morning.”
“Hell, woman, it is morning. In a few hours we’ll be doing it all over again, and what for? If this Earl Hammel wants to buy you out, maybe you should let him. Be a whole lot easier for you, and it’ll bail you out of your financial woes. But if you decide to sell, just make good and goddamn sure he pays you what it’s worth.” He threw the rag onto the dock and walked up the ramp, leaving her to ponder the darkness of his mood.
FOUR HOURS LATER Senna and Goody were in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Senna was mixing up a batch of blueberry muffins when Jack trailed in, looking in a marginally better mood than he’d been in the night before.
“What day is this?” he asked around a yawn.
“Monday.” Senna handed him a big mug of strong coffee.
“Monday. Good. I’ll call George, see if he feels up to guiding. He oughta be fully recovered by now. He’s had two whole days of rest.”
“Do you mean George Pilgrim, then?” Goody asked, tying on her apron. “I went to school with George. Quite a hell raiser, he was. I was sweet on him, but so were all the girls, he was that handsome. He went off to the war and when he came back he married Petra Gillard and took to rangering.” Goody reached for a big mixing bowl, plunked it down on the counter, and began cracking eggs into it. “He’d be a good guide.” She nodded. “Nobody knows the land any better than George.”
Jack carried his coffee out onto the porch and when Senna had slid the muffin tin into the oven she poured herself a cup of coffee and joined him. “Stolen moments of peace,” she said, sitting on the bench beside him. “Sometimes they’re the sweetest.”
“I’m sorry I was so short with you last night,” he said, staring at the river.
“That’s all right. You were tired.”
“I was wrong,” he said bluntly. “I’ve been wrong all along. I’ve been trying to make you see that this is where you should be. I’ve been force-feeding you on my own dreams and on the dreams of your grandfather, but you have your own life to live. I was wrong to try and make you stay.”
Senna was taken aback by the grim delivery of this statement. She sat for a moment in silence, trying to fathom his sudden change of heart. “Are you saying you want me to sell my half of the business to Earl Hammel?”
He turned his head to look at her. “I want you to do what you want to do, whatever that may be.”
Senna drew a breath. It was time to tell him just how she felt about him, no matter how vulnerable that made her. “Jack, I…”
“Good morning, you two early birds!” a bright voice said. Ida Snell appeared in the kitchen doorway cradling a cup of coffee and came out onto the porch to join them. “I was hoping I’d find you here, Mr. Hanson. Do you think we might go fishing again this afternoon? I could bring my camera along, and take a picture of my next trophy trout.”
AFTER THE FIRST ROUND of clients went off in the boats, the others donned waders and worked the pools above and below the lodge. Bert and Ida sat side by side on the porch enjoying the early sunlight while Senna began cleaning the rooms. By the time she finished that chore and was halfway through the laundry it was time to help Goody with lunch. They were setting the platters onto the sideboard when she heard both boats approaching the dock and then another sound that drowned out all others; that of a twin-engine plane. Strange, they weren’t expecting visitors, though Jack had called the hospital earlier and found out George Pilgrim was being r
eleased the following morning. Jack had promised to pick him up, but perhaps George had jumped the gun and signed himself out of the hospital a little sooner.
The plane made three slow flyovers of the lodge before landing on the river and taxiing to the dock. Senna stood at the top of the ramp, shielding her eyes against the sun and watching while the pilot of the plane jumped out and secured it. Two men disembarked. Two bags were deposited on the dock. Senna felt a sharp stab of foreboding, especially as the shorter of the two men turned and looked up toward where she stood. She drew a sharp breath and her heart skipped a beat.
Tim. And other man could only be Earl Hammel. Jack was tying his boat up to the other end of the dock and helping his clients out. He would know without even being told who those two men were and what was happening. He would think she’d called Tim and told him to bring Earl Hammel to the lodge because she’d decided to sell. She could almost see the rigid set of Jack’s shoulders from here. Tim had spotted her and was raising his hand in a wave, but Senna was so shocked she couldn’t respond. There was no place for them to stay. Tim knew they had no room, yet the pilot was depositing two more bags, accepting what Senna assumed was a tip from the taller man, then climbing back into the plane and starting the engines up.
Tim waved to her again. “Senna!” she heard him call.
Her legs felt rubbery as she walked down the ramp. Tim was smiling as he moved toward her and met her halfway, his broad, friendly face earnest.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this is a surprise, but Earl was going to come with or without me. I thought it would be better if I could at least introduce you.”
“But Tim, I told you several times that we have no room here. He can’t stay. And…and the thing is, he shouldn’t have come. He’s wasting his time. I’ve decided that I don’t want to sell my half of the business, either.”
Tim glanced over his shoulder to where the tall, distinguished-looking man watched the fishermen disembark from the boats. He looked back at her with a shrug. “Well, he’s here. At least listen to what he says. He’s prepared to offer a lot of money, Senna. Just give him a tour of the property and let him make his pitch. Then if you still don’t want to sell, don’t sell. It’s your decision and you have nothing to lose making an informed decision.”
Earl Hammel was younger than Senna had imagined, in his early fifties, with the bronzed complexion and athletic physique of one who spent much time out of doors, except for the diamond the size of a grape flashing in his ring. He shook her hand as Tim introduced them. “I’ll tell you straight off that I like the place already, from what I saw from the air,” he said. “And Jack here tells me the Atlantic salmon fishing on this river is outstanding.”
“Then you’ve already met my business partner, Jack Hanson. You’ll have lunch with us, of course,” Senna said. She knew she was supposed to smile, always smile, but she’d never felt less like smiling as she studiously avoided Jack’s gaze and led Tim and Earl up the ramp to where guests were already converging in the dining room and exchanging fishing stories. This was hardly the time to be discussing business, and she was grateful that Tim and Earl Hammel joined the other guests at the table and allowed her to help Goody with the midday meal. She was taking a pan of fresh biscuits from the oven when Jack walked past the kitchen window, heading toward the guides’ camp. She yearned after him, filled with a peculiar sickness that made her tremble all over.
“Here, now, lass, you’ll burn yourself, standing there with that hot pan,” Goody warned, and Senna set the pan on the counter.
“I’ll be right back,” she promised, dashing out the door and racing down the porch steps. “Jack!” she called out. “Jack, wait, we need to talk!”
He paused in mid stride and waited for her to approach. “You don’t need to say anything,” he said. “Just do what you have to do.”
“I didn’t know they were coming. I’m sorry,” Senna said, her heart aching at the stoniness of his expression.
Jack shrugged. “It would have happened, sooner or later. Today, tomorrow, what difference does it make? This place is special and there are people out there who would snap it up in an instant. There’s just one thing I’d ask. Let the summer run itself out. Don’t close on the property until we’ve finished up the season. Don’t disappoint Ida Snell. She was counting on going fishing with me this afternoon.”
“Jack, wait!” Senna said as he turned and continued on. She rushed after him, reaching for his arm, and was startled by the vehemence of his response. He spun around and raised both hands in a warning gesture.
“Don’t,” he said. “I can’t do this. I told you before, you have to decide what you want. I can’t make you buy into this dream. I was wrong to think I could. I was wrong to try.”
“No, no, you weren’t. I didn’t want Hammel to come here. I don’t want to sell to him!”
He stared. “You don’t?”
“No, but he’s here so I’m going to listen to what he has to say, and then I’m going to tell him how I feel.”
“If you really meant that about keeping your half of the business, Senna, you’d tell him before lunch,” Jack said, turning on heel once again. This time he didn’t stop when Senna called his name. She knew he wouldn’t. She also knew he was right. She should march over to the lodge and call Thunder Air to come pick Tim and Hammel up. But why did Jack tell Hammel that the Wolf was a first-class salmon river? Why? Why would he want Hammel to like the place?
Feet dragging and heart on the ground, she returned to the lodge to help Goody with the rest of the meal. She felt numb as she moved between the kitchen and the dining room. Smiling, always smiling, pleasant to the guests in spite of her inner agony. Did Jack want to get rid of her? Was he hoping that she’d sell to Hammel?
Senna arranged fruit on one platter, cookies and other assorted sweets on another, and was heading for the dining room when Jack crossed by the kitchen window again, on his way back down to the boats. He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and she stood at the window long enough to watch him toss it inside his plane. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified.
She carried the desserts into the dining room and set them on the sideboard, but when she returned to the kitchen she couldn’t see Jack on the dock, nor did she see him after lunch, except to catch a glimpse as he and Charlie loaded the next group of clients and their gear into the boats. Ida had opted out of the afternoon fishing to play cribbage with Bert. Goody had retired to the cook’s cabin for her restorative afternoon nap and Tim dogged Senna’s footsteps as she cleaned up the kitchen and prepped for afternoon tea.
“I’m really sorry about showing up this way,” he said again. “I didn’t realize how much work this was for you. I just want you to know that we brought a tent. We don’t expect to sleep at the lodge.”
“That’s wise of you, since there are no rooms,” Senna said. Her patience with Tim was running thin.
“Earl would really like to go out on the river after the tour of the lodge. He’d like to experience the fishing first-hand before he makes any solid decisions.”
“Right now we’re short on guides, Tim. There isn’t anyone who can take him. And what decisions? I’m not selling.”
“Talk to him first, Senna,” Tim pleaded. “He’s waiting in the living room. Just talk. That’s all. Earl’s really a nice guy. I realize you’ve been through a lot in the past few weeks. You’ve been run ragged, that’s plain to see. Take ten minutes to sit down and listen to him.”
“I have to get things ready for tea,” Senna said.
“Ten minutes,” Tim said. “Then, if you don’t like what you hear, we’ll leave in the morning. Senna, I only want what’s best for you. For what it’s worth, I’m only trying to help you settle your grandfather’s estate in the fastest and most profitable way.”
“I know that, but…”
“Ten minutes,” Tim repeated, and after a long pause, Senna gave a reluctant nod.
THE AFTERNOO
N SEEMED ENDLESS to Jack, plying the boat through the lower rapids and into good, deep holding water, advising the clients on which flies to use, pointing out the most promising pools, holding conversations about Atlantic salmon, arctic char, grilse, pike, and brook trout, trying to be engaging when all he could think about were Tim and Hammel showing up at the lodge unannounced, flying in as if they already owned the place and making themselves to home. And Senna, pretending she knew nothing about it. Did everything they’d shared together in the past two weeks mean nothing to her at all?
No way in hell was he hanging around to watch her entertain them. He’d fly to the lake house, spend the night there, and pick up George first thing in the morning. While his thoughts churned, one of his clients hooked into a twenty-pound Atlantic salmon and played it to the net, holding it up briefly for a picture before releasing it back into the clear, swift water. Fly rods whipped back and forth with great enthusiasm after this. The hours dragged on. Tim and Senna were back at the lodge together. Talking. Or maybe not talking. Maybe they were making up for a two-week dry spell.
Queasy thought.
The sun lowered ever so slowly. Happy hour finally beckoned, and he motored his clients back upriver to the lodge, helped them onto the dock, and was dismayed to see Tim and Earl coming down the ramp as the guests ascended. Earl Hammel didn’t beat around the bush.
“I’ve had the tour of the lodge and I’d really like to try the river before sundown,” he said. “I’ll pay you three hundred bucks, American, for two hours of your time.”
“Does that cover both of you?”
Tim shook his head. “I don’t fish.”
Great. Tim would stay behind with Senna. The bastard knew how to sink the knife deep and twist it. Jack wanted to refuse but he knew he couldn’t. Earl Hammel wanted to buy the lodge, and if he’d been given a tour and was standing here asking to go out on the river, apparently Senna, in spite of her statement to the contrary, must have decided to sell. “All right,” Jack said, more curtly than he intended. “We’ll go out right after supper.”
Sharing Spaces Page 24
