by Loree Lough
“I met your neighbor,” she offered.
“Which one?”
“Bud. I passed the marina entrance and had to backtrack, and stopped at the convenience store for directions. He was in there shopping and struck a bargain with me.”
“Let me guess: A guided tour to my place in exchange for a ride home from Pete’s.”
Mercy laughed. “He’s quite a character. I hope you don’t mind, but I invited him to join us for dessert.”
“Don’t mind a bit.”
“Is his wife ill?”
“Flora?” He sat up slightly, looking genuinely concerned.“Not that I know of. Why?”
“Bud said if Flora was feeling up to it, he’d have her call you, to see what time they should walk over.”
Austin’s handsome features crinkled with a frown as he said, “It’s tough to check on ‘em, working the night shift.” He nodded. “Would you mind very much if, after we eat, we bring dessert over there?”
“Not at all.”
“That way I can check up on her without her knowing that’s what I’m doing.” He paused long enough to take a long slow swallow of his tea. “Bud was over here couple nights ago, said Flora has been snoring like a buzz saw lately.”
For several semesters, it had been a tossup between psychiatry and geriatrics, thanks to serving part of her internship at a nursing home. Maybe she could offer a bit of hope, and put Austin’s fears to rest. “Has she talked with her doctor about it?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, Bud said something about an appointment.”
“Good.” She saw no point in adding to his unease with facts about cancer of the nasal cavity. “It could very well be a very normal part of the aging process. Lots of elderly people snore—even those who never did before, and I’m sure her doctor will tell her—” She stopped speaking when a big merry grin broke out on his face.
Austin held up his glass in a silent toast. “I keep forgetting there’s an MD behind your name, and a DR in front of it.”
She feigned a haughty demeanor. “I don’t know why, when I take advantage of every possible occasion to flaunt the fact that, in order to specialize in psychiatry, I had to earn a medical degree first.”
His infectious laughter warmed and delighted her, and Mercy made the decision right then and there to encourage as much of it as possible, as often as possible.
They sat in companionable silence for most part, with Austin occasionally pointing out geese and heron and egrets, various types of gulls and ducks, and the ever-present osprey that, once she landed on the nest not ten yards away, kept a wary and beady eye on the inhabitants of One Regret.
“Looks like rain,” she said, eyes on the horizon. “I hope it holds off until after the show.”
“It will.”
He said it with such authority that she had no choice but to believe it. “Were you a boater before you bought the tug?”
“Nope.” He told the story of how he’d bought the boat after seeing photos of it on the Internet, detailing what it had cost to have it trucked to the marina, and how much he’d spent on construction supplies to make it livable. “I don’t know much,” he said, tapping one temple, “but the little knowledge I’ve gained came by way of trial and error.”
“My dad would have loved you,” she said, more than a little surprised that the comment evoked a truly pleasant memory.
“Y’think?”
“He always said that lasting lessons are learned the hard way.”
Austin nodded approvingly. “Then I guess I would’ve liked your dad, too.”
That surprised her, and she said so.
“Why wouldn’t I like him?”
“He was born in Saudi Arabia, for starters.”
“So?”
“Used to be a practicing Muslim.”
“I hate to repeat myself, but … so?”
Mercy matched his grin tooth for tooth as he added, “Didn’t you tell me he became a citizen, converted to Christianity out of love for your mother?”
When had she told him that? Mercy wondered. “And quit his job as a translator at the U.N. after 9/11, then sold his house on Long Island and bought a tiny condo in Manhattan, so he could live off the proceeds and his savings, and dedicate himself to the Auxiliary Police.”
That raised his eyebrows. “But that’s an all-volunteer force.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “What happened that day shamed him.”
“But why? He wasn’t a terrorist. Or a Jihadist. Or—” “They were Arab-types, and it was enough to make those who were less informed than you jump to conclusions about him.”
Frowning, Austin shook his head, and, after another sip of tea, he pointed toward the horizon. He told her about the green flash, adding that last time it had rained he’d seen a fire rainbow.
“Never heard of one,” she admitted.
The way he described the rare sighting of the balled-up rainbow, clinging to the underside of a cloud, made her want to see one, too.
“Don’t blink,” he whispered, pointing again, “and you might catch a glimpse of the flash.”
Hard as it was to pull her gaze from his stunning face, Mercy looked west, just in time to see the sun slide—like a golden coin into a slot—from the sky. She heard a tiny gasp burst from her lips, felt her pulse quicken. What a fool she’d been, to allow errands and chores and work-related tasks to keep her from enjoying something so magnificent.
“Amazing what God can do, isn’t it?”
God? Of all the things she might credit for the spectacular sight, God surely wouldn’t be one of them! “I’m a scientist,” she said.
“OK, so I admit it: I’m downright redundant. But … so?” “Science is black and white, and demands proof to back up every theory.”
“Theory.” He nodded, then met her gaze. “Surely that isn’t what you think, that God is a theory.”
He’d dropped plenty of hints about his devotion to his Lord.Mercy didn’t know why the question surprised her, but it did.
“Your own father walked away from the Muslim faith—and from what I’ve read, that can be considered a sin punishable by death in his former world. He must have had reasons for that, good, solid reasons that went deeper than love for your mother.”
“If he did,” she said carefully, “I never heard them.”
“No way I’d turn away from my faith for a woman. Any woman. And I can’t imagine he did, either.”
Mercy had a feeling she knew where this would lead, and she did not want to have this conversation. Experience had taught her that it would only lead to harsh words and hurt feelings for both of them. Why couldn’t people just agree to disagree on the subject of religion, instead of working themselves into a lather to bring everyone to their way of thinking?
She liked this man. Liked him more than any she’d known to date. But more important than that, she respected Austin.Respected his First Amendment right to believe in God— or not—as he saw fit. But how would she tell him all of that without damaging the connection between them that seemed to grow stronger with every meeting?
Then her stomach rumbled, providing the perfect opening.“Wow. When was the last time you fed that beast?” “This morning.”
She started to tell him that she’d made herself two slices of buttered toast with cinnamon and sugar on top and pretended that the bubbles and ice cubes in her tea had totally captured her attention. Pretended because the last guy she’d dated—a criminal defense attorney—once asked why she felt it necessary to describe everything in elaborate detail. “It’s what my clients do,” he’d said over the lasagna dinner she’d made for his birthday. “The guiltier they are, the more intricate the details.It makes me wonder what crime you’ve committed.”
He’d been kidding—at least about her alleged crimes—but his criticism went straight to the heart. If he ever figured out why she’d rushed him through dessert and ushered him to the door for a cool, not-so-much-as-a-kiss-on-the-cheek goodbye, it didn’t show i
n the four voice mail messages he left that next week. She never called him back, but maybe, she thought now, she should have at least thanked him for teaching her a valuable (if not stinging) lesson in communicating with men. Or, more accurately, in not communicating with them.
She put her tumbler on the table between them and smiled, feeling at once victorious and proud for having kept her babbling urges under control, yet again. “Were you just teasing, or are we really not having steamed crabs tonight.”
His face contorted with an apologetic wince. “Sorry, kiddo.My supplier had troubles with his boat motor and couldn’t check his pots today.” He laughed. “‘My supplier.’ Makes me sound like one of those snooty ‘I’ll have my people call your people’ types, doesn’t it?”
No doubt, his ‘people’ would be church people. But Mercy had no intention of opening that door again.
“I grilled some big juicy steaks earlier. All I have to do is heat ‘em up and warm the baked potatoes and we’re good to go.”
She scooted to the edge of her chair, eager to do something to busy her fidgeting fingers. “What can I do to help?”
“Hardest part of serving dinner up here is carting stuff up the ladder. Two pairs of hands means fewer trips, so I’ll take you up on that offer, m’dear.” He got to his feet and gave her a hand-up getting out of the chair.
“I need to get a couple of those for my terrace.”
“First of all,” he said, “your place is way too contemporary.”
They climbed down to the galley floor. “And second of all?”
He winked. “Now you’re the one who sounds like a ‘have your people call my people’ type.” Chuckling, he opened a round-cornered old fridge that stood only slightly taller than the one up on deck. Like the ancient soft-edged stove, a few chips that stood out in stark contrast to the once-white enamel.
“Where did you find these wonderful old appliances? I can’t think of any way to describe them except to say they’re positively charming! I wonder if they’d qualify as antiques—not that you’d want to sell them. Do they work efficiently?”
She had to grin at her rapid-fire line of questioning. Well, the attorney had commented on offering too much information, not on gathering it.
“I have to kick the fridge now and then to remind the compressor it has a job to do,” Austin said, “but the stove is as trusty as an old dog.”
“How did you learn to live in such a small space?” she asked as he handed plates and bowls to her. “I mean, you’re a big guy. I’ll bet it took a year before you stopped whacking your elbows and clunking your forehead on these short, skinny doorways.”
Nodding in agreement, Austin chuckled quietly. “Yeah, I sported a few bruises those first six months or so. But it got so I couldn’t remember which I got whipping the place into shape and which came from clunking and whacking myself on stuff.” Grinning, he stacked two plates and a bowl against his chest. “If you can grab what’s left, I think we’re all set.”
She looked around to see what he’d missed, and grabbed the plate of sliced tomatoes. “Mmm. These look home grown.I’ll bet you got them at Lexington Market. That’s where I get my produce. And meat. And fish. And just about everything else that’s best when it’s fresh.”
“Nope. Grew these myself. You didn’t see the outstanding multi-tiered container I built with my own two hands?”
“To be honest, once I spotted that ray skimming the surface of the water, I didn’t see much else.”
“Sheesh,” he groused. “What a girl.”
On the upper deck, he put the food down and relieved her of the tomato plate. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you, ‘cause Mercy, Mercy, Mercy, you’re one girl who’s mighty easy on the eyes.”
She felt a blush coming on. “Do you enjoy embarrassing me?”
“The truth shouldn’t embarrass you,” he said, matter-offactly.Then he struck a match and lit the grill. “Like I said, the steaks are pre-cooked, so I only need to get ‘em hot. Unless you like yours well-done.”
“No sir. I prefer medium rare.”
“No kiddin’?”
“Is that a problem? Because if they’re already well-done, I’m fine with that.”
“No, it’s just that I like ‘em medium rare, too.”
“Looks like we have music and meat in common.”
Smiling, Austin nodded. “More tea while we’re waiting for the grill to heat up?”
“I’ll do it.” Tapping a forefinger against her chin, she said “Something is missing.”
Before he had a chance to ask what, she added, “Why aren’t you wearing an apron? And a puffy white hat?”
My, but he looked adorable, blushing that way!
“I don’t own a chef’s hat, but I have an apron.” He used his chin as a pointer. “Right over there in that cabinet.”
Mercy half-ran to the drawer he’d pointed to, and, finding it, carried it to him. “Duck,” she said, flapping it.
When he did, she slipped the neck strap over his head.
“Now turn around.”
He did that, too, and when she reached for the ties, he grabbed her hands and said over his shoulder “I can’t help but wonder what else we have in common.”
And then his stomach growled.
“Well,” she said, tying the strings in a tidy bow, “there’s that.”
“And let’s not forget pineapple upside-down cake,” he said, facing her. Hands on her shoulders, he looked deep into her eyes.
For an instant, his gaze lifted, skimmed the Chesapeake’s shore. Then he kissed the tip of her nose. “Pop another album into the CD player, will ya, while I tend these steaks?”
Mercy didn’t wonder which disks she’d choose, or whether to turn the volume up or down, because her brain had locked on one wish—
—that he’d aimed those mustachioed lips of his an inch south of her nose.
15
As they walked toward Bud and Flora’s boat, Austin said, “Wish I’d taken a minute to grab the hand truck.”
“Hand truck? What’s a—”
“You know, one of those long-handled carts on two wheels? The kind moving men use to haul boxes from the truck?”
Mercy wrinkled her nose. “What on earth do you need—” And then she snickered. “I get it,” she said, giving his arm a playful slap. “The cake isn’t that heavy, you big tease.”
Man, but he adored this little slip of a thing! Austin didn’t for the life of him understand how a guy could go from resenting a woman to being nuts about her in the span of a few weeks. Or how he’d managed to put aside every angry thought and bitter emotion she represented. If she’d give him a sign— even a little one—that she loved God, he’d ask her to marry him. In a heartbeat. Now how crazy was that.
“Who’s that on my porch?”
Austin leaned down to whisper, “That’s Flora. You’re gonna love her.”
And she whispered right back, “If she’s anything like her husband, I’m sure you’re right.”
The greeting alone took five minutes, and after peeling back the foil wrapper on the cake plate, another five was spent oohing and ahhing about the dessert. She put her arm around Mercy and insisted on taking her on a tour of their boat, leaving Austin and Bud in the cabin, shaking their heads.
“Sounds like a henhouse,” the older man said. “Thought I’d left all that behind me in Virginia.”
“Ever miss it?” Austin asked, making himself comfortable on the couch.
“Well, since we’re both Irish, you’ll understand better than most my need to answer your question with a question.” Bud poured two cups of decaf coffee, handed one to Austin, carried one to his easy chair. “Why, I bet I’ll have the stink of chicken dung in my nose as I draw my last breath. Now I ask you …would you miss that?”
Chuckling, Austin shook his head. “Who drinks hot coffee when it’s ninety degrees outside?
“You ‘n’ me, that’s who,” he said matter-of-factly. Then, “What coul
d be taking the gorgeous li’l thing so long?”
“Hey, you tryin’ to move in on my girl?”
“Like I could get away with that, with old eagle eye right in the next room!” Bud chuckled, then leaned across the end table that separated his chair from the sofa and whispered, “But I hafta admit, I wouldn’t mind getting to know that doll better. A whole lot better.” He sat back and slapped his thigh, nearly sloshing coffee onto it in the process. “She’s a treat for the eyes, I’ll give you that. Puts me in mind of my Florrie, when she was a century younger, of course.” He looked guiltily around. “And if you tell her I said that, I’ll deny it!”
“Won’t do you any good,” Austin pointed out. “She’d believe me in a heartbeat And you know it.”
Grinning, he waved away the comment. “Yessir,” he said, nodding approvingly, “a real treat. If you have a lick of sense, you’ll keep this one, son, and I mean permanently.”
Close, Austin, thought, so close to what he’d been thinking, just moments ago. “Before she died, my mom gave my brother and me some good advice about women,” he said. “She told me never to overlook a girl’s most annoying traits and habits.‘Stare at ‘em,’ she’d say. ‘Put ‘em under a microscope and study ‘em, then ask yourself if you can live with ‘em for the rest of your life, ‘cause you aren’t gonna change the girl—or her faults!’”
“Good advice,” Bud said. “Wish somebody would’ve given me a piece of that advice back when I was a younger man.”
“Gimme a break. You’re crazy in love with that wife of yours, even after—how many years has it been now?”
“Couple more weeks, and it’ll be forty-eight years.” Bud shook his head. “But it hasn’t all been peaches and cream, son.We had our sour years, too. Plenty of ‘em. Every married couple does.”
“My mom used to say that, too. Right before she told me that—”
Flora burst into the room with Mercy close at her heels.“This girl is a delight, Austin. If you let her get away, well, then you’re even more the thickheaded Irishman than I thought you were.” She gave Mercy a sideways hug, then clapped her bony hands together. “And now we’re off to the galley to fix us all some cake and ice cream.”
