by Lori Power
“Oh, yes, I have the Parsons, the Matthews, the Jordans, and of course, you. Typically, there are four new couple’s every two weeks, but you being a single means there’s just seven guests this go round. I must say I’m grateful to the MacLean’s business as it keeps my Inn running. But you slept later than the rest today and they’ve already left to see the sights.”
Vivian’s gaze flicked to her tasty breakfast as it turned cold while she continued to listen to Ethel’s rant.
“Lynette and I make sure everyone is well equipped with maps and such to go off exploring, but we just didn’t know what to do with you, travelling by yourself and all. It’s not like one of those couples could to take you along and it seemed wrong to book any tours for a single. Well, we just didn’t know what to do.”
Never feeling as alone as she did at that moment, Vivian forced what she hoped was a pleasant smile. Obviously Ethel thought Vivian to be some sort of defect travelling alone. Perhaps the modern woman didn’t exist in MacIntosh?
“Well.” Vivian sighed and folded her napkin. Having suddenly lost her appetite, she rose from her chair, “I don’t want to keep everyone, being that I overslept. I’ll find my own way over to the MacLean’s.”
“Billy said to tell you to drop by the house and Lynette would take you to the warehouse for a tour,” Ethel said as Vivian left the kitchen.
****
His mother fussed about the kitchen giving orders and writing notes on her to-do list. “You’ll take Vivian to the warehouse today and then show her some of the sights.” Lynette turned to Tuck before leaving to begin her errands. “I should be here when she comes by though, as I don’t expect to be too long.”
“Much as I would love to play tour guide, Ma, I can’t.” He held up a finger before his mother uttered another word. “One, it’s not part of my job description, despite how often you want to change it on your own whim.” He held up a second finger. “And two, I have a mountain of work to get to and unless you have another IT fella on the side, I guess, I’m your man to get that done.” Booking no further conversation, he headed downstairs to the office.
“It’s nothing that can’t wait, can it?” His mother followed him to the stairs. “She’s all by herself for heaven’s sake. I feel bad for her. She sounded like such a nice lady on the phone and I want her to have a good time. I can’t ask Nate, it’s not right with him being married. You’re not married.” Leave it to his mother to state the obvious. “You go.”
“She’s a big girl, Ma. Someone who obviously didn’t need her hand held to get here and would likely resent it anyway if I offered.”
“Listen here, Tucker Michael MacLean.”
Oh, no, I’m in trouble now if she’s pulling out my full name.
“Whatever you have to do can wait. Clients are important. You have making up to do for yesterday, so you’ll find the time to show her around.”
“Ma, she booked the trip on her own.”
“Don’t you sass me.” She pointed a finger at him, her other hand wrapped tight around the purse slung over her shoulder.
“Ma, I’m not seven. All I’m saying is she chartered the trip. She went to the effort of finding us on-line and booked a two-week holiday that included learning the skills necessary to sail as part of a crew. We always schedule enough free time before and after to accommodate the necessity for site-seeing and the boat trip. I’m sure she can manage.”
His mother’s face softened into a smile, and he knew he had lost the battle. “Just offer, okay? If she says no, fine. You’re off the hook. But make the offer to show her around.”
Tuck sighed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Fine, you win.” He continued down the stairs. “Suppose I’ll have to foot the bill for this too,” he mumbled. “Flowers weren’t enough…”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing, Ma, nothing. See you later.”
Tuck didn’t think he had to be a companion simply because Vivian didn’t bring one. All this fuss for some woman who came alone. Spending unnecessary cash was no longer part of Tuck vernacular. “No one else gets this kind of treatment.” He argued plaintively for his own hearing.
“Did you say something?” his mother called from the top of the stairs. When he didn’t answer, he heard her footsteps move toward the kitchen door. “See you in just a bit.”
Tuck heard the squeak of the door as his mother left the house. His computer monitor binged, announcing more e-mail. No longer interested in conquering the mountain of paperwork on his desk, he stood, leaning his hands on the mahogany table, letting his head swing between his shoulder blades. The descending silence reminded him of the one project he wanted to get done while the house was deserted. He shook his head, welcoming the excuse to do something besides sit at his computer. Taking the stairs two at a time, he went outside and into the garage to grab his tool belt.
The proximity of the kitchen door to the flight of stairs to his office echoed the sounds of the coming and goings of everyone through the stairwell. It wasn’t so much the constant banging of the screen door that irked his nerves as the squeaking that sounded like bagpipes on their initial sigh when the kitchen door opened. While motivated he might as well take care of the banging.
The old family house was a parcel of additions. It had been added to with each generation of MacLean’s living in it. His generation had just finished modifying, renovating, and expanding the old home to include offices in the basement for the business.
Many, many years ago, Old Captain MacLean, the original, did all his business from his ship or in the Tavern. Back then, business was completed anywhere from the wharf to the kitchen table, never ironically enough in the actual warehouse where the ships were built, restored, and repaired. Upon Tuck’s re-entry to the business, his family had discussed building a loft in the warehouse for offices and such, but his mother was so use to working at the kitchen table, directing family traffic, and taking care of family members that she couldn’t get everything done from the warehouse—so far away.
So far away…just down the road. “Not even a five-minute walk,” he muttered, pushing the garage door open with his shoulder. Even this door had a mind of its own, loose in the winter allowing drafts and powdery snow to seep inside, and in the warmer weather it stuck. Inside the garage he continued his internal rant. Comply with the boss. He rolled his eyes heavenward, praying for patience. Though his father ran the company, he left all the details to his wife and from there she delegated. It seemed his father’s main objective was keeping Lynette happy, and he and his brother, Nate, followed suit.
The rusted toolbox banged against his leg when he retraced his steps back to the porch. No matter how much grease was applied the damned thing continued to squeak. Tuck decided new hinges were in order. Even that small task wouldn’t be easy because they had to have the right look.
“We’re a sea faring family,” his mother once said. “Tourists come to see us and should be pleased by what they see. Taken back in time as it were. We can’t have hinges like the regular ones they sell on the shelves.” She admonished him when Tuck laid the hardware on the counter the first time he attempted to do this job.
Tuck had fished the receipt out of his pocket. “Ma, I’m sure when the house was originally built, Ole’ Captain’ MacLean bought supplies at the local mercantile.” Tuck argued fruitlessly, but knew he would be taking the hinges back
Putting the new hinges back in the hardware bag, his mother smiled, a slight twinkle to her eye causing laugh lines across her beautiful cheeks. “That’s just it, and so they should look just like what he would have purchased off the shelf in the eighteen century.”
The manufactured sign of straining hinges greeted his ears as he opened the back door. Convinced there were no screen doors until the middle to late nineteenth century, he opened the box that arrived yesterday, containing the hardware he had found on the internet. Expensive, but matching the historical hinges even Ole’ Captain MacLean would have purchased.
Only the sound of the ocean lapping and the occasional dog barking marred the silence surrounding Tuck as worked on the door. He smiled, knowing he was fixing an historical landmark. There were several older homes in the town of MacIntosh, but the MacLean home had always belonged to a family member in one way or another. The house held many lifetimes of fond memories. The front porch, where his mom and dad sat on their favorite swing in the evenings and greeted the neighbors. The veranda on the back of the house overlooked an acre of pristine property edged by the sea. The kids always loved the lookout window in the in the attic, complete with a spyglass where they could view ships of all shapes and sizes in the far distance.
Tuck didn’t know a lot about architecture, but in town they referred to the MacLean house as a Captain’s House for that is exactly what it had been in the eighteenth century, a captain’s house built for a ship’s captain.
Great, great, however many times it took to go back to Grandpa MacLean to get to the right generational gap, was by all accounts the original sea captain. Gerald MacLean crossed the pond from Scotland in the eighteenth century. He set sail, brought along his men and their families for a fresh start away from English rule. Here, life began anew for this branch of the MacLean’s on this side of the Atlantic aptly named New Scotland at the time, now Nova Scotia.
Being true to your roots only went so far with Tuck. Nothing would convince him that having to pay twice as much for a set of hinges and having them shipped across the country was worth it. A little over the top, but if it pleased his mother, so be it.
A warm day, the sun shone directly on Tuck’s back. A trickle of sweat danced off the tip of his nose, He sat back on his haunches and reached in his shirt pocket for the old-fashioned hankie, wiping the sweat from his brow. He slipped it back into his pocket and grabbed for a screwdriver, cursing when it slipped from his sweaty hands.
Even while focused on his task, he couldn’t miss the scent of coconuts and pina coladas as it sailed up his nose. Directly beside the ancient toolbox, a set of candy apple red toes suddenly appeared. Huhh. Tuck’s gaze followed the cute toes, to the flawless skin on the long legs that seemed to go on forever. He stretched from his crouch position to stand upright. Sparkling. Her arms and legs had some sort of glitter coating them, making the reflecting light sparkle over her skin in the sunlight. He inhaled her scent. An inviting tropical beach.
Tuck’s gaze continued to her almond shaped, sea green eyes which were staring at him, questioningly.
“Good morning, Tuck,” Vivian said. Her low toned, husky voice seemed to be more suited to a late night radio talk show than a morning greeting. “Is your mother at home? I want to thank her for the flowers. They were lovely.”
“Ah, what? No. I’m glad you liked them.” Tuck gripped the screwdriver tightly in his left hand, completely baffled as to why he seemed a loss for appropriate conversation every time he encountered this woman. He took a deep breath. “Ma went to run some errands. She told me to tell you she’ll be back in just a bit, if you want to come in and wait.”
“Oh, no, I don’t want to be any trouble.” Vivian turned to walk away.
He didn’t want her to leave. Acting before thinking, Tuck quickly rubbed his free palm along his trousers before placing it to rest on her arm, just as she was about to leave. He had seen beautiful women before. Hell, he married the original trophy wife. But with Vivian, he seemed to be tongue-tied and at a loss for sensibility, which wasn’t like him. He hadn’t been at a loss for words since a girl in eighth grade let him see her boobs.
“You’re no trouble. My mother wanted to meet you in person and show you around.” Tuck dropped his tools back in the box, hoping to cover his discomposure. “Come inside and I’ll put the kettle on for some tea.”
“Tea would be nice. Thank you.” Vivian stepped over his tools as he held the door wide for her to enter the kitchen. “Your house is beautiful. It’s just what I would expect in a fishing community. I love the red door, by the way. I did notice yesterday that many of the homes paint their doors rather vividly. I saw purple and yellow. I will have to think about something like that for my place.”
With her back to him, Tuck breathed deeply, trying to identify the flavor of her scent. “I don’t know how it started. The door painting, I mean, but it is different.” He closed the door, and then opened it again, testing the new hinges. “This isn’t my house, though. Well, not any more. I grew up here.” Tuck coughed to cover his babbling. “My mother doesn’t want the original nature of the house ruined with anything too modern looking, which is why I was cursing those hinges on the screen door.”
“Oh, she’s right.” Her hands linked together as she glanced around the kitchen. “I live in an aged cottage myself, which was an original 1929 farmstead. Nowhere near as old as this home and about a fifth of the size. But I love it just the same. It’s not just the character, it’s the feel and the spirit of the house. My cottage is homey and this house has the same atmosphere. A family home.”
“Would you like a tour?” What? Did I really just offer to show her around? His tongue spoke before his brain had a chance to catch up.
“I would love a tour. But are you sure? You seem busy.” She pointed to the tools and hardware scattered on the floor.
“Ma would love for me to show the place off.” Forgetting about the tea, he led the way out of the kitchen to the rest of the house. “My mother is very proud of the house.”
“She should be.”
After Vivian ohhed and ahhed over every detail, noticing the smallest of things like the knobs on the counters. Tuck guided her to the basement. He wanted to show her there was more to the MacLean’s than being ancient mariners.
“How did you manage to create this space?” Vivian waved her hand around the developed office space.
He was unaccountably pleased with her reaction as though it were a direct reflection on him. Tuck noticed how genuinely wide-eyed she appeared to be over the room, which resembled a modern day office you would see in a high rise professional building. It was hard to believe with all of the natural light from the large windows that they were in a basement.
“It took some doing.” Tuck smiled with pride. The transformation had been his idea. He had a client in the city that renovated his Victorian home to add a dental office. “We had to lift the house, which was quite a process, and pour a deeper basement as these old places just had cellars. Once that was done, the rest was candy.”
“Candy, eh?”
He noticed how her full lips formed an appreciative smile that lit her whole face. She was attractive, but when she smiled to reveal the white perfect teeth, her whole face blossomed. Beautiful turned gorgeous with her emotions worn expressively on her face.
“Candy.” Tuck leaning closer to her as the smell of coconuts filled his senses. The spell broke when the kitchen door opened. He smiled and pointed upwards.
“The door,” he said by way of explanation when Vivian raised her brows. “No squeak, no slam.” Tuck placed his hands on his hips. “I’m the family computer geek, so I love it when I am able to show the macho men of the family that I too have trade talent. I may not be a ship builder or a master craftsman, but I have just proven I can, when the need arises, fix a squeaky door.” He held his hand out toward the staircase. “My mother will be anxious to meet you.”
She nodded and climbed the stairs in front of him, delicate fingers holding the railing.
Tuck’s mother approached them with a bounce in her step. She took Vivian’s hands in hers, staring into the woman’s earnest face. She then embraced Vivian in an affectionate hug as though they had known each other forever. “Well now, you’re well matched for my Tucker there, aren’t you? So tall and beautiful.”
Tuck braced for Vivian to react to the sore spot on her height.
His mother smiled. “And here I thought I was the only one to grow ’em tall. Your ma must love her tall weeds as well.”
Vivian laughed. A tinkle of mer
riment filled the room as she leaned and returned his mother’s embrace.
Stepping back from Vivian, but still retaining hold of one of her hands, his mother turned to him. Her eyes danced with mischief. “Thought you were busy with mountains or something.”
Damn that woman, she doesn’t miss anything. “Mole hills, as it turns out.” He walked to the sink to fill the kettle. “Notice the door?”
“I did.” His mother ushered Vivian to the table, and pulled out her biscuit tin, laying the table with tea treats.
He turned the gas stove on under the kettle and reached for the teacups and saucers. Tuck glanced over his shoulder, raising a brow at his mother. “Better?”
“Much better.” She smiled and took a seat opposite Vivian. Still with an unmistakable glint in her eye, she placed her elbows on the table. “Can you ask the new master tradesmen how he fixed his outside water pipe?”
With laughs and a good story, the visit began. As most guests did, Vivian too had fallen under his mother’s spell of making people feel at home and welcomed. The smile on her beautiful face proved his assumption was correct.
****
The kettle screeched and Tuck, who had been leaning casually against the counter defending his meager trade skills, moved to the stove to pour the hot water into a teapot. Vivian quickly became absorbed in the warmth emitted by son and mother until Tuck turned from the stove, frowning.
“Guess I did too good a job of the door. All manner of creatures can come and go as they please now and we’ll never hear them,” he said.
Vivian turned in her chair, following the direction of Tuck’s stare.
“Oh, go on with you now.” Lynette scolded her son. “Marston, dear, come round and meet Vivian. She’ll be sailing with us this trip. Marston is our neighbor. I use to watch him when he was little. Tucker, you grab another cup now will you?”
