by Lori Power
At five-foot eleven, Vivian made eye contact with most men and not familiar to looking up. In heels, which she loved to wear when the opportunity struck, she would be taller than most. Her height had been a major source of self-consciousness when she was younger, but she now relished it, loving the authority it provided her with.
Tearing her glance from the hands on her shoulders to his ruddy cheeks, strong jaw line, and well formed lips, she made her way back a set of eyes that resembled the wind-whipped sea. She had never stared into such gorgeous silver-grey eyes, Vivian teetered on her stilettos. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“You okay?” he said, his lips very close to her face. Amusement and appreciation were evident in his gaze as it travelled over her face. Uninvited, his hands remained on her shoulders, sending warm currents down her spine as he continued to study her.
Vivian moved her lips to speak, but was lost in his cocked half-grin and mesmerizing eyes. The momentary spell was broken when he said, “Hey, you’re tall for a woman.”
Cold water dosed the sudden warmth enjoyed by his hands splayed across her narrow shoulders. “Like I’ve never heard that before.” She didn’t bother to hide the ice in her tone. His simple words had thrown thrown her back to her awkward high school days when she wanted the boys to notice her and not her towering height.
With her balance restored, she shrugged his hands from her shoulders and turned on her heel to walk away. Her long legs ate up the distance as she made her way toward the car rental wicket, bemoaning the waste of such a good looking guy. “Maybe I should have asked him, how’s the air up there for you?”
No matter how old she got, a negative twist on her height always smarted. She had constantly suffered from people making fun—asking if she played basketball or how the air was up there.
It seemed okay for a guy to be tall—as if expected and to be achieved. But a tall girl? No, a girl had to be petite, small, and doll-like, like her friend Stephanie. Most woman couldn’t attain Stephanie’s perfection, but ironically, it had been Stephanie who brought her up short, pardon the pun, when Vivian had been a teenager about to start University, but still trying to hide her height by slouching her shoulders and bending her knees unnecessarily lower when she walked, trying to be invisible.
Stephanie had grabbed Vivian’s arm roughly, stopping her in her tracks. Stephanie explained how she hated wearing heels just to be seen—to be noticed, and if she was as tall as Vivian, she’d glory in it. She ordered Vivian to flaunt her height, to show what God gave her and never, ever, be ashamed.
It was weird how one person’s words could bring about such a change, but from that day on, Vivian walked straighter—held her head taller, facing life head on. She wore heels when she wanted, and any man who was intimidated by her height weren’t worth a second look. She quickly learned that as soon as she forgot about her own insecurity, so did most men.
But there were always exceptions.
As she continued to the car rental wicket, she could still feel the warmth of those strong fingers on her shoulders. Vivian’s thoughts wandered, imagining the magic those hands could invoke, if invited, to the rest of her body. A shiver chased down her spine.
Chapter Four
Tuck welcomed the distraction of staring at the lovely lady as much as he dreaded the phone call he had to make to his mother. Watching the retreating figure, his appreciation of the view turned to a chuckle at her murmured comment about the air up there, which he had heard a zillion times. The momentary diversion of a beautiful woman was just what he needed before tackling his mother. Taking one last glance at that spiky black hair and those lovely long legs, ending in red she-devil stilettos, brought a touch of perspiration to his upper lip, which he quickly wiped away with his forefinger. “Too bad, she’s not the woman I’m looking for.”
Tuck shook his head, returning his attention to his reason for standing by the bank of payphones. “Goddamnit, where the heck is Margaret?” He reached into his pockets for change as he moved toward the phone the woman had just vacated, smelling the faint scent of coconuts as he lifted the receiver.
Not being able to get a damn cell signal in the airport was the icing on the proverbial cake. He had been here an hour already. He even waited for the last person to trickle off the flight Margaret was suppose to be on.
He checked with the flight staff. “No,” the grey-haired woman confirmed. “Everyone has departed the plane and we’re preparing for the next batch of passengers. Perhaps you missed your friend walking by. Did you try luggage?”
Tuck jogged to baggage claim holding his Margaret sign like some limo driver waiting for the rock star to arrive. This was typically his younger cousin’s job, but Billy had final exams today and struggling to get his marks up so he could get accepted into film school. So pickup was Tuck’s job. Lucky me.
All the women he thought looked like a Margaret walked by without any interest in him even when he waggled the sign in front of them like some sort of vagabond begging for spare change.
“Margaret? What in the name of all that is holy are you talking about, boy? The woman’s name is Vivian!” The exasperation in his mother’s voice was more than obvious. “Vivian!”
Vivian. Tuck rolled the name in his mind as his mother continued to berate him. He learned early on how to tune-out while she vented. Vivian, now there was a name to conjure an image. Margaret, on the other hand, brought to his mind an old auntie of ninety-five telling stories to the kids when she visited, smacking her lips together to hold her dentures in place.
“Ma.” Tuck tried to get a word in. “Ma, please. Cool down and listen to me. The plaque card says Margaret. I’m not the one who writes the plaque cards. I’m just the errand boy you sent to pick her up.”
“What? Your dad does those and we’ve never had a mistake…until now.”
Tuck rolled his eyes at his mother’s jab—a reminder he was the newest member to the family business. “Yeah, I know, Ma.” Tuck sighed.
“Ya know I didn’t mean that in a bad way toward you.”
He knew his mother’s sails were deflated with the knowledge she could no longer blame him for the mishap. As the self-appointed matriarch of the family, she liked having everyone home, and his leaving still smarted an angry sore that never healed.
Tuck had been a computer programmer, a good one, until eighteen-months ago. He loved the art of programming, the digging down layer after layer of computer labyrinths until he got exactly what he wanted from the machine. He was a creator and worked in the city for some big-named companies before turning to consulting, and adding clients of his own.
He’d still be doing his dream job now if it hadn’t been for a self-serving accountant, a rather creative accountant who should be jailed. Add in a glitter and glam girl friend with the spending habits of a French prostitute and whamo! Game over. Damn tech bubble. When that thing went bust, everything Tuck had strived for his whole life burst with it.
Marching out of the airport toward his parked car, Tuck’s mood grew dark. His easy smile of only minutes before evaporated and replaced with frown lines creasing his brow.
The MacLean family had been brought up on the water. They learned to sail young, built and repaired boats, but Tuck had wanted more. What that was now, he couldn’t quite recall. All he remembered was having the burn to put small town life behind him. He wanted to experience life beyond the rugged coastlines of Nova Scotia’s South Shore. Wanted to be away from the place where everybody knew your business, or where everybody thought they knew your business. He wanted to be more than a MacLean, known for ship building.
After University, paid for by his stint in the Coast Guard as a rescue swimmer, Tuck left the craggy harbour and set out as an intern. He quickly moved up the corporate ladder in pursuit of…what? What had been so clear to him then was now a fog.
Tuck had been something all right. For a while at least. There were parties, dinners, and lots of glitter. Oh, the accolades. He couldn’t get enough of
those. Ego, ego, ego. How could he have even considered what was important?
What a fool he had been. The girl, the clients, his house, and his business, in that order, all gone. Amazing enough, his girl had disappeared faster than the slimy accountant or his business partner.
Tuck raised a hand to his forehead, feeling the lines of bitterness running across his brow. He should have listened to his mother, but didn’t dare tell her that. She had told him to always listen to his gut—to listen to the warning signal that goes off in your head when you first meet someone. But he chose not to listen to his mother or his gut. He got swept away in the glamour of the moment, and then fell hard, going through not one, but three divorces at once. The partnership agreement, the winding down corporately of his business, and with his wife.
He didn’t even speak his former wife’s name in his parent’s house. His mother would purse her lips and walk away whenever the subject of Tuck’s life in the city came up in conversation. She never mention Suzy’s name. His ma made no bones about ever caring about his marriage to Suzy or anything that occurred while he was away. Thankfully, he had a fall-back plan. The safety net many didn’t have—a family that cared.
Despite their affection and open-arms welcome, coming home had been humiliating. He lived with Nate, Emily, and the kids for a while until he found his feet again. Family being family, they cushioned him, providing the much need balm for his aching soul. Helping him recover.
When his dad offered him a job in the family business, he was not too proud to say yes, grateful for the opportunity. His mom, dad, and even Nate all had some great ideas on where they wanted to take the business, but no way of execution. Once he listened to their strategy, he knew he could take their ideas and make them a reality on social media and the internet. Through his marketing genius, Tuck was able to redesign and develop a plan to bring attention to the business.
At least to his family, he was still their Tuck, and he thanked God for that. For as high as he thought he had climbed and the length of time it had taken to get there, the fall was fast, furious, and without mercy.
His family, who were his one true constant, didn’t seem to care one way or another about his past mistakes, as long as he came home. They loved him as they always did. They never made him feel like the failure he thought he was. Being needed made all the difference.
With Tuck taking the joint roles of IT and Marketing, the family business had swelled, going from breakeven two years ago, to this year’s seasonal projects doubling their profit. With a little web access customers were booking on-line. Tuck had linked their Learn to Sail website to major resort and tourism databases making it easy for people to find them. Once they found us, Ma reeled them in with her earthy charm and straight forward ways.
“People are attracted to clear speaking and good common sense,” his mother told him as she reeled in another booking—her third that week. “Who’da thought that manners would be so rare this day in age.”
Tuck resumed tuning into his mother on the other end of the phone, grateful for the break of his reverie. “I swear your dad is losing his marbles, one at a time, of course. Vivian Margaret is the lady’s full name. Never mind now, though. You probably walked right past her. She’s finding her own way. Just come on home, sweetie, and drive carefully. Your ole ma loves ya, ya know.”
“I know, Ma. See you soon.”
Tuck understood how the mix-up could happen. He didn’t think his dad was losing his marbles at all. Filing a sailing manifest required the full name of all their clients, ids, and passports in preparation for voyage. The ship would be crossing international waters lines. Authorities required all necessary paperwork to be filed by the ship and crew members. His father just got the two names mixed up. Could happen to anyone. Despite understanding the error, Tuck did worry at times. His parents weren’t getting any younger, regardless of their spry ways.
He shook his head, clearing his mind of the disheartening thought and headed for his car. He paused as he exited the airport to inhale a cleansing breath, and then stepped off the curb in the white-striped pedestrian crosswalk. He quickly jumped back as a rental car flew pass him, almost hitting him. His heart rate racing, Tuck peered at the car as it sped away to see the driver’s bent head looking at something other than the road. Probably a map.
Damn tourist, never paying attention to where they are going.
****
What luck. Vivian smiled as she drove away from the airport in her rental. The car had an iPod adaptor direct to the car speakers. Another secret joy she rarely shared with anyone was her love for music. It gave her a sense of freedom she craved.
She plugged in her music and turned her attention back to the road. She quickly spun the steering wheel to prevent from veering off the road, thankful the other lane was clear of vehicles. “Whoa, that was close.”
With the miss-mash of roads and too many signs leading out of the airport, she took the wrong exit. Stopping on the shoulder of the road, to use the GPS on her iPhone, she managed to get her bearings and right herself on the correct path. After a series of bypasses and overpasses, within a half hour she was enjoying the scenic shore drive. Green, green, and more green dispersed with flowering trees, vivid vegetation, and picturesque houses set atop storybook hills directly out of fairy tales, greeted her as she travelled the secondary highway.
If I were a writer, I would surly write about this countryside. The ocean to one side, and the fields and farms to the other. A soft breeze blowing, good music playing, and the shining sun, the perfect start to her vacation.
Finally reaching the quaint town and finding her lodging was an easy task as there wasn’t much to the small town of Macintosh. The large white house of The Mariner’s Roost set upon a small hill. The driveway curved around the house with parking at the back. Stepping out of the car, she stretched and inhaled, filling her lungs with the salty air. She paused for a moment to breathe in the beautiful stretch of green-grey ocean scenery.
Vivian rummaged in the trunk and pulled out her carry-all and one piece of luggage. She was ready for a good night’s sleep to recover from the long day of travel, and a fresh start tomorrow, but after marvelling in the spectacular view, Vivian decided on a quick run before grabbing a bite to eat. She laid a hand on her stomach to calm the flutter of excitement.
Checking in to her lodging cooled her curiosity. Mrs. Ethel Fraser was a plain-dressed woman who spoke frankly and without inflection.
“You really are here on your own?” Ethel resumed her seat as Vivian signed the old-fashioned register.
“Yes.” Vivian glanced at the paper, shaking her head at the woman’s shock of a woman travelling alone. Vivian wondered if Mrs. Fraser was a friend of her mother.
“No husband at all?”
“No, none.”
“Divorced, then?”
“No, never married.” Vivian glanced at the blue-haired woman with a tight bun held severely on the top of her head.
“Um hum.” Ethel stood to stow the register in the drawer. “I’ll show you up to your room then, will I?” She walked around the heavily polished desk, the high gloss repelling any thought that dust would dare settle.
“Yes, please.”
Despite her frank questioning, Vivian liked Ethel instantly, seeing her as a friendly sort who was one of those people who needed to fit everyone she met.
“If you could hold my dinner until I return from a quick run, I would appreciate it.” Vivian smiled.
Ethel frowned. “What are you running from?”
“I’m not running from anything.” Vivian laughed. “I’m simply cramped from the long travel. I think a good stretch would be best to help me relax.”
Ethel’s face seemed to lack any form of expression, as if she couldn’t understand someone’s need to exercise.
Ethel guided Vivian to her room, unlocked the door, and shuffled back down the corridor. Vivian closed the door and glanced around the room. More spacious than it appeared f
rom the outside, a dormer window with a cushioned seat graced one wall, while the bed, piled high with a fluffy duvet, filled the one opposite, leaving room for a bathroom and a small chest of drawers to complete the space.
Pulling out her sneakers, shorts, and T-shirt from her luggage, she quickly changed. She checked the charge on her iPhone, laced up her runners, and was stretching her legs when Ethel knocked on the door.
She handed Vivian a map. “Don’t get lost, dear. My number is on the back and I’ve circled where you are now.”
Vivian smiled. There was the use of dear again that warmed Vivian’s heart. It made her feel special. Maybe the older woman had emotion after all and was simply incapable of showing it on her face.
Taking the map from Ethel, Vivian scanned it quickly, noting both the circle indication for the house and the number before folding it neatly in her pocket. She secured her iPhone in her arm-band. “Okay, thanks. I’ll be about an hour.” She knew she’d be a while because her run always turned into a walk near the end, especially when nature captured her attention.
“You have a lovely, figure, dear. You’ve no need to worry about losing weight, pretty thing like you. Even as tall as you are, some man will find you attractive,” Ethel said, walking with Vivian down the tall staircase and onto the veranda where she settled in her rocker on the front porch of the aged Victorian house overlooking the water.
Vivian thanked Ethel again for the map and jogged down the steps to begin her run. She ran along the narrow road, cranking the music while admiring the view. Feeling the breath of a breeze on her face and the taste of salt in the air, she lengthened her stride. The smell is amazing. Fresh, clean and ageless. God, this is just what I needed.
She passed a small marina and with sailing boats in the water. Vivian didn’t know a schooner from a yacht, but she enjoyed watching them skim over the mirror-like surface.
Beads of sweat trickled down her cheeks. The runner’s high of endorphins raced through her veins, waylaying any jet leg crash. Exhilaration spurred her on, feeling excited and free. Free to just be myself. There was freedom in the anonymity of travelling alone.
