by Loree Lough
Austin sipped his coffee, waiting for the qualifier that would follow Bud’s remark.
“If it reminds me of a locomotive, pulling into the station, imagine what it sounds like inside her head!”
Austin laughed under his breath. But his smile faded when he remembered how his mom had snored deeper and louder as her final days drew nearer. About the only peace the poor woman got came from listening to CDs of a favorite old radio show, The Bickersons. He’d heard some of the episodes so many times he’d memorized a lot of the dialog. Bud and Flora often reminded him of the battling comic duo, but despite the Callahans’ salty relationship, he knew each would be a living, breathing mess without the other.
“Doc said if the allergist doesn’t find anything, they’ll arrange a scan of her head.” Snickering, he added, “Now let me be the first to say that those will be some interesting pict—”
“Good Lord A’mighty,” came a raggedy voice from across the way, “how’s a girl supposed to get her beauty sleep with the two of you over there, chattering like a couple of magpies into the wee hours?”
The men exchanged an amused glance, then Bud put a hand to the side of his mouth. “Watch and learn a thing or three about women, young’un. I’ll have her eating out of my hand in no time flat.” He ended the sentence with a noisy finger snap, and, raising his chin, looked over at Flora. “And exactly how long have you been up and about, my sweet little Flor-de-lee?”
An audible “Ha!” floated to them before she said, “Long enough to want to hurl my black iron skillet in your direction.Maybe that’ll quiet the pair of you down!”
Bud leaned closer to Austin and heaved a sigh of resignation.“Just my luck,” he said under his breath, “she woke up with a big ol’ grump on.”
“I heard that, Liam Kyle Callahan!”
Bud clapped a hand over his eyes. “I do declare, a man can’t slip anything past that woman!”
“If you’d get yourself some hearing aids—like I’ve been after you to—maybe you could slip one by me every now and again.”
“Women. Can’t live with ‘em, and can’t live with ‘em.”
While Bud chuckled at his little joke, Flora’s voice took on a maternal tone. “All right now, Bud, you’ve kept that boy from his bed long enough. Why don’t you drag your hard-ofhearing bones back over here, and I’ll scramble you some eggs so he can get some much-needed sleep.” Hands on her hips, she tacked on, “Why, I’ll bet he’s on the early shift tomorrow, or should I say later this morning!”
Austin knew better than to intervene. He’d tried acting as the peacemaker between these two often enough to know that the gesture would only put him in the line of fire. And wasn’t it funny, he thought, that despite all that, he sincerely hoped that if God ever saw fit to bless him with a wife, the woman would have Flora’s “love your man and gently keep him in check” skills.
Bud drained the last of his coffee and put his mug on the table between the deck chairs. “If I know what’s good for me, I’d better hot-foot it over there before she has to repeat herself.My luck, she’ll rouse the rest of the marina, and old Betsy will call the cops to report a disturbance.” He started down the ladder, stopping long enough to say, “Catch you later, son. You take care out there, y’hear?”
“Thanks, Bud. I will.” He pointed toward the schooner and snickered. “And you take care over there.”
Minutes later, as the Callahans’ quiet laughter drifted to him on a sticky puff of air, Austin leaned back, and, eyes closed, grinned. During his first year out here on the water, he must have told himself a hundred times that the next time he bought property, he’d put plenty of space between him and his neighbors. But as the months rolled by, he knew that if he left this place, he’d miss their well-meaning, good-natured involvement in his life. Like it or not—and the longer he knew them, the better he liked it—the quarrelsome duo were all the family he had in the world.
Admitting that made him think of Mercy, who lived alone in the spacious contemporary townhouse that she shared with an overweight cat named Woodrow. She’d gone out of her way to comfort that kid—Winston?—out there on the football field, and went right on consoling and reassuring him, even after the ER staff had worked their medical magic on him. She had the whole nurturing thing down pat, as evidenced by the way she’d calmed the boy’s hovering parents. Prettiest little thing he’d ever seen. So why hadn’t she married, popped out a few dark-eyed little kids of her own?
The image of her glimmered in his mind so clearly that he could almost touch her. In fact, he found himself wishing he could touch her.
The notion unsettled him, and made him realize that at some point before he saw her again, he’d better give the whole Mercy matter a lot of careful thought, because—
Growling under his breath, he got to his feet. “Get a grip, Finley.”
Fingers wrapped tightly around the polished brass rail surrounding the deck, he faced east and stared out over the peaceful Chesapeake, where the first signs of sunrise were winking in the cloudless black sky. A perfect morning to see the green flash.
The first time he spotted it, he’d still been knee-deep in reconstruction materials. A nightmare had driven him topside, where he kicked aside sawed-off two-by-fours and spent sandpaper in an attempt to escape the haunting memories. He remembered thinking that one of two things explained what he saw out there on the horizon: Either he’d added sleepwalking to his list of mental maladies, or it had been an optical illusion. By the time he finished knuckling his eyes, it had disappeared, confirming that it had been a figment of his overworked imagination, and he never mentioned a word about it to anyone, not even Bud and Flora.
Its second appearance drove him to the Internet, where he typed countless words and phrases into his search engine until, at last, he learned about the phenomenon that was a result of scattered air molecules. The emerald flare, he read, appeared only under the right circumstances, and lasted little more than a second.
Blink, and you’ll miss it, he reminded himself.
He’d no sooner finished the warning than a burst of bottlegreen light sizzled across the horizon and vanished in less than a heartbeat. Hoping to catch sight of a second spark—a far, far rarer occurrence, his research had taught him—Austin held his breath and waited.
A moment passed, then another, with no repeat performance.Meaning he’d blinked despite his best efforts not to, or God had decided one flash was enough on this sticky morning.Contentment quickly replaced disappointment as Mercy’s face drifted into his head. If she’d been there to share the miracle with him, would her perfect brows have risen in sync with the corners of her mouth?
“Yep, you’re losin’ your mind,” he muttered, facing the pilot house. Besides, hadn’t she said that during her childhood, her folks had owned a sailboat? For all he knew, she’d seen the mini-light show dozens of times, and it wouldn’t seem like a big deal to her at all.
Grabbing both mug handles and tucking the Thermos under one arm, he headed down to the galley. It had only been a few days since he’d reconnected with her, yet she popped into his head at the weirdest moments. Like when a songbird rang out a melody, or a soft breeze caressed his face. And without exception, he’d catch himself grinning like a knock-kneed schoolboy.
Sweaty palms and burning ears might have been normal in study hall, when he’d done his best not to let any of his classmates see him gawking at the prom queen, but at this stage of his life? No way he liked feeling that he’d lost all control over his thoughts and his emotions!
After washing Bud’s mug and the Thermos, he propped both in the drain board and emptied the last of the coffee into his cup. TV flickering, he stretched out on the sofa and turned up the volume to hear Jamie Costello read the early morning news. But not even stories of robberies gone wrong and the threat of a hurricane skimming the Atlantic coast could distract him from thoughts of Mercy.
When, exactly, had his feelings for her changed from outand-out disdain to bord
erline affection? And would the feelings last, or were they—as Bud said every time Austin brought a woman home for a tour of the tug—“Just a flash in the pan”?
The tiny red-blinking light on his answering machine accomplished what the horizon’s green flash and the morning news couldn’t, and diverted his attention from the former therapist-turned-counselor.
He wouldn’t call Cora now—though he would have bet the boat she hadn’t gone to bed—because the boys were light sleepers and needed their sleep a whole lot more than she needed to cry on his shoulder. Besides, if he hoped to administer his usual dose of sympathy and patience, he needed a clear head.Better for him and her if he stopped on the way home from work, instead, with a couple of bags of the boys’ favorite fast food.
He knew exactly how she’d react when she saw the familiar golden arches on the bags, first listing a dozen university studies that stated the negative after-effects of cheeseburgers, French fries, and chocolate shakes, then blasting him with “that stuff is simply horrible for growing children!” After a few minutes of the boys’ unrelenting pleas, she’d invite Austin into the parlor, where she’d slide the pocket doors shut so the boys wouldn’t hear her list the reasons she resented Eddy. And missed Eddy.And wished Eddy had chosen a safer line of work. As usual, he’d pray all the way to her house that he’d wouldn’t lose his cool and blurt “For the love of God, Cora, get some counseling, why don’t you, so those terrific boys of yours can look up to you, instead of looking out for you!”
He gave God the credit for reminding him what Mercy had said during one of their first sessions, and thanked Mercy for the words that kept his lips zipped: “Not everyone heals at the same pace or in the same way.” It had taken him years to break free of his alcohol-induced prison of self-pity, and he hadn’t been saddled with the care and well being of two impressionable kids. Who was he to judge how she handled her grief?
A shard of sunlight pierced the galley porthole, illuminating the round-faced captain’s clock. Austin padded into the companionway and opened its glass-and-brass door. He’d always loved the gritty whirr-purr of the key, turning the gears that would keep the timepiece ticking for another day. A small thing, really, yet it gave him a sense of calm reassurance, because he knew he could depend on it to chime every hour on the hour. “Too bad people can’t be as reliable,” he said, closing the door.
On the way out, he grabbed a banana to quiet his rumbling stomach, and, while walking to his parking space, heard the steady putt-putt-putt of a boat motor. At this hour, it couldn’t be anyone other than Jed Card, heading out to set his crab pots. The retired Marine never expected a big haul, but if he got one, he celebrated like a kid on Christmas morning.Mostly, though, Jed got his kicks from gliding up and down the Chesapeake’s shores, checking his lines and offering two or three free Maryland blues to anyone who called the bay “home.”
Jed untied his aluminum johnboat from the piling and tossed the thick rope onto the deck. “What’re you doin’ up so early, Tugger?”
He’d stuck Austin with the handle two days after the tugboat had been delivered to the dock, and except for Bud and Flora, that’s what his neighbors had been calling him ever since.
“Same thing you are.”
And Jed only nodded. The war-hardened former soldier was but one of the few who understood Austin’s peculiar sleep habits—and his deep need for privacy. He could count on one hand—and have fingers left over—how many people had heard his 9/11 story, and if it hadn’t been for that night several years ago, before he joined AA and returned to his Christian roots, Jed wouldn’t know the details either.
A pang of gratitude clutched Austin’s heart. Like Bud and Flora, Jed was, as his grandpa would say, “good people.” In a pinch, he could call on any one of them, and they’d come running.Austin may not have a slew of blood kin, but he had the quiet reassurance of solid family ties, thanks to these three.“So tell me, Card, when are you gonna admit you’re the only one in this marina who operates on military time?”
“‘Bout the time you quit startin’ every sentence with the word ‘so.’” His boisterous guffaw startled the roosting water birds into a wing-flapping frenzy. Squinting as their downy gull and tern feathers floated into the boat, Jed added, “Either that, or when I get my viking funeral. Whichever comes first.“He cackled again. “So … ,” he teased, “you want I should set aside a few blues for you?”
He blinked away the sunset image of Jed’s lifeless body, floating out to sea as flames devoured him and his humble cabin cruiser. “Much as I hate to,” Austin said, “I’d better pass, ‘cause it’s likely I’ll pull a double shift today.” Waving the banana, he increased his pace. “I’ll take a rain check, though.”
“Drive safe.”
“You bet.”
“I’m not talkin’ about that bucket o’ bolts you call a truck,” Jed said. “I mean in the ambo. Take care not to drive it into any innocent civilians, y’got me?”
Chuckling, Austin tossed back, “And you take care not to ram that hunk of tin foil into any real boats.”
Last thing he heard before turning over the pickup’s motor was Jed’s robust laughter, and Austin smiled. Despite the dream, his spirits were high, thanks to Jed and the Callahans.His mood rose even higher as he realized that at this hour he’d have an easy drive to the station, and higher still knowing that when he got there, he’d be greeted with a hearty slap on the back and noisy enthusiasm, especially from the lucky night shift guy who pulled the long straw and won the chance to head home a couple hours early.
He tuned the radio to WPOC in time for the last half of an old Garth Brooks tune. Most days, he would have belted out the lyrics, but today, he tapped the beat onto the gear shift knob while making a short list of things that might explain Flora’s snoring. Bud’s midnight meanderings. Regret that he’d turned down free steamed crabs, Baltimore style.
“Say,” he said, giving the steering wheel a light thump, “that’s what I’ll serve when Mercy comes to dinner.”
She didn’t seem the type who’d go all prissy when faced with the mess, traditional part of cracking into the spice-androck-salt–covered crustaceans. And if she did? Well, that would settle things, once and for all. Because what choice would he have but to see it as a sign that she wasn’t the woman God intended him to share the rest of his life with!
He might have laughed at the image of her, pinkies in the air and nose wrinkled as she recoiled from the rust-colored crustaceans on butcher paper. But his last thought smothered any enjoyment that might have resulted. The rest of his life? he replayed. Where had that come from? Austin scrubbed a palm over his face and muttered, “Great Scott.” Because if he added up all time he’d spent with her—both in New York and here in Baltimore—he couldn’t legitimately tally more than a dozen hours. “Oh, you’re losin’ it, old boy. Definitely losin’ it.”
Not a big leap from ‘losing it’ to ‘lost.’
Lost in love?
Shaking his head, Austin added to the mental list of things he’d been compiling:
What in this crazy, out-of-control world had put Mercy Samara front and center in his head and way, way too deep in his heart?
11
Mercy dialed Tommy Winston’s room number at Bayview Hospital, and, after a dozen unanswered rings, hung up and tried the main switchboard.
“Mr. Winston was released this morning,” the operator said, and abruptly ended the call. Which meant in order to retrieve his contact information and arrange a visit, she’d need to drive to the school. Not her favorite way to spend a summer Saturday, but as Tommy’s counselor, she felt duty-bound to do it.
After donning jeans and a Yankees T-shirt, Mercy pulled her hair back in a clip and hurried to the foyer, where she stooped to give Woodrow a hearty goodbye backrub. “I’ll be back before you finish your kibbles,” she said, popping a kiss to his fuzzy brow. He emitted a happy chirrup and wound a figure eight around her ankles, then leaped onto the arm of the sectional.
“So what do you think,” she asked, grabbing her keys and purse, “which will cheer our injured football player more, a CD or a DVD ?”
Whiskers twitching, the fat tabby responded with a breathy “R-rup.”
“Maybe I’ll buy you a brand new catnip mouse while I’m out, just for being so adorable.” And with that, she closed the door behind her, thankful her neighbors weren’t out front to hear her talking to the feline as if he were human.
An hour later, she stood on the Winston’s front porch, a big sack of fast food in one hand and a small department store bag in the other.
“It’s open,” called a voice from the other side of the door.
Mercy stepped into the dimly lit entryway. “Hello?”
“In here,” came a gruff baritone.
She followed the sound of the voice to the family room at the end of the hall, and found Tommy, surrounded by sports magazines and candy wrappers. “Well, don’t you look like king of the castle?”
Grimacing as he sat up straighter, Tommy said, “The folks took my little sisters to the movies. Probably won’t be back for hours and hours.”
Mercy perched on the corner of the coffee table. “I hope you haven’t had lunch,” she said, hoisting the bag of burgers.“I wasn’t sure if you preferred cheeseburgers or hamburgers, so I got both.”
“Wow. Thanks, Dr. Samara. That was cool of you.”
“So how are you doing? What’s the prognosis?”
“Doin’ great,” he said around a mouthful of fries. “Doc says if I don’t push it, I can be back on the field before the Homecoming game.”
Considering that he’d dislocated his collarbone, broken two ribs, and pulled a tendon, the answer surprised her, and she said so.
Tommy unwrapped a cheeseburger, used it to point out all the games and goodies around him, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes. “I figure it’ll take Mom a week to get wise to me, and then, everything will go back to normal.” He slurped his soda. “Until then, I’m gonna enjoy this while it lasts.”
