When a cold spell slapped the city, she zipped up her jacket, donned a wool scarf, and tucked her hands in her pockets. Slate skies turned the buildings an even darker shade, stones as cold as her bones. She missed Ebenezer, his fur coat tucked next to her skin, the rattle in his throat a comfort in the night.
Her spirit lightened as the weather turned and the sun flung promises of warmth. She found a wonderful display of jewelry down in the Village and planned to meet the designer soon. The thought made her want to skip down the sidewalk.
When she phoned Hannah that evening, her friend’s voice sounded troubled. “We’re fine,” Hannah said. “I mean, Matt’s not. It’s that pesky cold he can’t seem to shake, and it’s gone into a miserable cough. I finally got him tucked up in bed with some aspirin. You know him. He won’t go to the doctor, because he won’t believe he’s sick. At least I convinced him running off to work wasn’t the cure-all.”
“Tell him I asked about him, will you? And that I want him to get well.”
“I will. And don’t you worry. He’ll be fine.”
“Things better with Alex?”
“That’s a sore subject if I ever heard one. But at least he’s working longer hours and keeping out of my hair. You still having a good time?”
“I am. And I can’t wait to see you.”
“Get us good tickets, you hear? I’m looking forward to Broadway and shopping. In that order.”
“Yes ma’am.”
After hanging up from that call, Tadie dialed her house to check on Rita. When no one answered, she phoned the apartment.
“James, hey,” she said. “How’re you all?”
“We’re doin’ fine here, Miss Sara, but what about you? When you comin’ home?”
“I’m not sure. There’s a lot to see up here. Tell me, how’re things with Elvie?”
“You want to talk to her?”
She heard Rita say, “Let me have it, Daddy. I’ll carry it in to Mama.”
“Tadie, I’m glad you called,” Rita said quietly into the phone. “Mama’s in bed already. She’s not asleep, but the doctor says she’s got to keep her arm elevated. She’s got something called lymphedema. Some word, isn’t it?”
“What on earth?”
“It happens sometimes after they take out the lymph nodes, you know, like they did with her. The arm swells because it’s not draining properly. Here, you talk to Mama about it.”
“Is that Tadie?” Elvie said before clearing her voice. “Oh, Tadie-girl, it’s been too long. How is that city treating you?”
“I’m fine. But what’s this arm thing you’ve got?”
“It’s not a blessed thing. Just my arm getting a little swollen, so I’ve got to keep it high a few times a day.”
“They’re not worried about it, are they?”
“Doctor says take care of it and make sure it doesn’t get an infection. That’s what we’re doin’.”
“I’m awfully glad you have Rita there. You need me to come home?”
“What would I need more people around for? To put pillows under my arm? I can fetch my own pillow.”
Surely, Elvie’s snippy tone meant she was getting better. Tadie pulled her notepad over and dug a pen from her purse. “You take care of yourself, you hear? And let me speak to Rita again.”
“I miss you. You get finished up there and come on home.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Rita came back on. “She’s going to be fine.”
“Spell the name of that thing again, will you? I’m going to look it up for myself.”
Tadie jotted down the word, said good-bye, and turned on the computer. When she finally logged off half an hour later, she felt a little better. The arm thing was a nuisance, but nothing more, as long as Elvie took care of it.
Monday began a week of cold, rainy days. She called to make an appointment with the jewelry designer, only to discover the artist was out of town. Well, that shouldn’t stop her from working on new designs of her own. Inspiration enough existed in the city, from both the ancient and the modern. Her pencil flew across the sketch pad, but when she studied her efforts, she flipped to another page. Three sheets later, she sat back and admitted that, without her stones in front of her, the drawings lacked life.
She loved working in three dimensions, manipulating pieces until they appeared as she’d imagined. She sometimes used the lost-wax process. Other times, she soldered or beat metal to form it. Once in a while, she would string together beads mixed with precious stones, a necklace laced with sapphires and gold, perhaps sea shells interspersed with onyx. One of her teachers had said the best artists created their own style, recognizable. So maybe hers was eclectic.
Chewing on the tip of her pencil, she stared out the window at rain dripping off the eaves onto her narrow little ledge. Here she was in New York City, an art mecca, allowing the days to slip past while she embraced sloth. She’d accomplished nothing. If her goal had been to meet new people, she’d failed miserably.
Thirty-five was past time to figure out priorities. Women her age had careers. Look at all those families cheering at soccer games in the park, riding bikes together, and walking the dog. She’d wander past and imagine them chatting around the table about work and school and where they planned to travel for the holidays this year. What was she doing in the midst of all these strangers? At least back home, she had a shop to run and a studio to work in and a boat to sail. And friends.
Yes, in Beaufort, she had friends.
And yet she lingered. Hannah would be visiting in a couple of weeks, and inertia made staying easier than not. The weather meandered between pleasant and downright ugly.
She answered her phone when it rang these days and usually carried it with her. No one seemed to need her, but with Elvie’s arm an issue and Matt not well, she thought they might—maybe—at some point.
When she went out to dinner, the phone stayed home. On Saturday evening, she dined at the Thai restaurant and didn’t remember to check for messages until quite late. There was only one.
“Hope you’re having a grand time,” Isa’s voice said in that lilting tone of hers. Tadie’s pulse quickened as the next words played. “Will came in today. He just finished the restoration and is leaving tomorrow. You knew he sent Jilly up to stay with her aunt a while ago and has been on his own—I suppose avoiding this end of town. He asked about you. I told him you’d moved to Manhattan and he seemed surprised. And sad. His parting words were to thank you.”
Listening, Tadie remembered his expression as he’d hurried Jilly out the door. The pain returned like a gut punch.
She hugged her pillow to her chest and fought for sleep. Why did he have to go into the shop and ask about her? Why couldn’t he have just gone away and let it be?
The numbers on her digital clock took forever to flip. Her stomach rumbled. Acid burned a hole or two, probably twelve, in it.
She climbed out of bed at dawn. After a bowl of oatmeal, she crawled back under the covers. She kept the blinds drawn and pulled a blanket off the bed to watch DVDs in the living room. She could order from any of the neighborhood restaurants and have a meal delivered. It only took a phone call, and soon a smiling young man would appear at her door. Why go out at all?
What a city. She could order groceries by phone or online. Or she could pick them out herself, and the store would deliver them so she wouldn’t have to carry a bag. If she wanted, she could live in the middle of millions of people and never see anyone but the boy handing her the sack.
She phoned down the block for burritos, which gave her indigestion. Curled on the couch, without ambition or even an ounce of oomph, she sailed smack into the doldrums. A slipper remained on one foot. She’d kicked the other at the television when a stupid commercial screeched at her. Bits of cereal floated in a bowl of milk on the coffee table. The remnants of her Mexican dinner took up space next to it. She hadn’t washed a single dish.
The next day, Tadie sat with the remote control in her
hands and a cramp in her leg. Bending to massage it, she decided she didn’t smell very fresh. Her scalp itched and she was bored. She had watched the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice twice and a production of Emma once. There wasn’t enough on TV to keep her entertained, and she’d forgotten to stock up on more books. She had her laptop, but she could surf the Net for only so long before she ran out of things to interest her. Running in place was not going to cut it.
She took a shower, changed into jeans and a clean shirt, and checked her watch. Five-fifty. She’d ordered dinner to be delivered at six.
With three minutes to spare, the boy rang the bell. She let him up, tipped him, and stuck the Moroccan couscous into the refrigerator. If she stayed inside to eat it, she’d probably end up doing violence. This wasn’t her furniture and those weren’t her walls. She could imagine the stares she’d get if she called a cleaning service to remove the stains of a tantrum.
Not that she’d ever had a tantrum, but she felt on the verge. There was always a first time for most things, wasn’t there? Most, she reminded herself. Not all.
Bundled against the cold, she jogged all the way to the Indian restaurant two blocks over.
Who cared about stupid, mean jerks anyway? Fine, she missed Jilly, but there were lots of kids who needed loving. She’d go find another one.
Maybe she’d adopt those twenty orphans.
Back in the apartment after a less-than-memorable meal of rice and lamb—not because there was anything wrong with the food, but because she’d chewed and swallowed it mechanically—she loaded the dishwasher, cleaned up the litter, and took a long bath. This time, it wasn’t to get clean. The tub just seemed like the best place to weep.
Her alarm clock roused her at seven the next morning. She walked five miles along the river until her numbing toes forced her inside a small diner. The chicken-salad-on-a-bagel was fresh, the orange juice just squeezed, the coffee better than her home brew. Paying the bill, she headed out to the street. Five miles back seemed excessive, but she could mosey. Moseying seemed like a better idea than sitting in her apartment.
Sparkles danced on the water as the sun’s lower-angled rays raked it. She breathed deeply, pausing to watch a sailboat motor up the river, but imagining those on board, living and laughing and doing what she loved best, just exacerbated her discontent.
It was after one when she exited the elevator and opened her door, shedding her coat and her clothes on the way to the bathroom. She thought she heard her phone ring as she turned on the water. Not that it mattered. At least not for the time it would take her to scrub off the sweat and try for the soul-deep grime.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Will motored out of the harbor toward the Intracoastal Waterway. Going up the ICW wouldn’t give him much sailing time, but it would allow him to anchor easily each night, which was a good thing while he handled the boat alone. It would also keep him away from the treacherous waters off Cape Hatteras. This time of year, the Cape, along with the rest of the coastline off the Outer Banks, had reason to be called the Graveyard of the Atlantic.
A fair wind blew as he headed up the Neuse River and into the Pamlico Sound. Turning on the autopilot, he raised sails to take advantage of it and pored over the chart, looking for a good anchorage with enough depth. If Jilly were here, she’d keep him company, but he’d see her in a little over a week if all went well and he didn’t run into any storms on the Chesapeake. Although they chatted daily and she still giggled at his jokes, he sensed a distance that wasn’t about the miles between them. He had some work to do there.
That night, he dropped anchor in a small creek out of the way of passing commercial traffic and the last of the boating snowbirds fleeing the winter cold. He opened a can of beans, heated it on the stove, and downed it without interest.
His jeans hung loosely on his hips. He ought to eat more, but all he could manage was enough to fill the hole and keep himself going.
He pictured his daughter, saw her bright eyes when she took Tadie’s hand, heard her laugh as she and Isa prepared their spaghetti dinner. Flattening his palms against his eyelids, he tried to block the images, especially the one of Tadie’s stricken face on that last day. The water lapped gently against the boat’s underbelly, but it was hours before it lulled him to sleep.
He upped anchor early and again motored north, munching a cereal bar and sipping coffee from a thermos as he steered. Normally, meandering up the North Carolina waterways delighted him, but not this time. He missed his little chattering bird who always wanted to help, and who did a darned good job when he let her. The silence on board stretched his thinking time, something he didn’t need or want.
He had assuaged his conscience in the weeks it took to repair the Nancy Grace. The work had occupied his hands and, to some extent, his mind. Now, as he watched out for mud banks and shoals, he had plenty of opportunity to wonder why he’d acted like such a jerk. He’d been furious, believing his anger justified, convincing himself that Tadie had sucked up to him while making much of a lonely, vulnerable Jilly—unconscionable behavior. He’d reared up on his high horse, certain he had to end their relationship before Jilly’s heart was broken when Tadie didn’t get what she wanted.
When had his thoughts begun to veer in another direction? He hadn’t found Tadie particularly attractive the first time they’d met, mostly because she wasn’t Nancy. She had none of Nancy’s lithe grace or her small dancer’s body. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t even seen Tadie as a woman until they’d sailed on her small boat and he’d been face to face with her personality. Her laughter had first caught him off guard. Then he’d noticed her sparkling eyes, her wild, precocious brows that shot up in surprise or concern, one at a time when she questioned something he said. As they sat on the floor around the Monopoly board at her house, her long muscled legs had angled in and out of various positions, sometimes curling under her, jutting out from her, corralling Jilly in a tease. He’d noticed those legs all right.
He’d hated himself for noticing and had begun watching to see if she were angling for him. When the creep, Alex, had shown up, Will had been shocked by his own response—which had pretty much sent him over the edge.
And then he’d dreamt of her. Not merely that one time. Oh, no, she returned to haunt him twice more.
Talk about disloyal.
He checked the charts again. It was tricky here, figuring out which direction the markers took as they exited the sound and entered the canal again. He picked out the starboard mark and made toward it.
Amazing how thinking of those dreams provoked other memories. Tadie hadn’t ever tried to be alone with him, had she? Or used feminine wiles to lure him. Nothing like Leslie or the others. The only time he’d seen her in makeup had been the morning he’d stood in the doorway, watching her talk to Jilly. She’d been wearing a bright silky thing that slithered over her breasts as she gestured. His physical response had sent him reeling with fury. And he’d blamed it on her.
He wished that morning undone, the words unsaid. But words had power and he’d used his to hurt an innocent woman. He hoped her time in New York would prove healing. Maybe she’d meet a wonderful man, get married, and live happily ever after.
Somehow, that thought didn’t ease his conscience as it should have. Or make him stop remembering the taste of her in his dreams.
* * * * *
The Dismal Swamp felt particularly dismal as the Nancy Grace motored up the narrow channel. Will sat in the cockpit and watched the moss-strewn trees pass on either side as a hundred eyes followed his progress. He never went this way without imagining the teeming life batting and flapping and crawling and sliding just out of sight. The scent of plough mud was strong. Sometimes a sticky-sweet smell wafted his way, and when the river meandered near farmland, he got whiffs of fertilizer being tilled in for the winter crop.
As he approached Norfolk and hurried on to Hampton Roads, the Coast Guard issued storm warnings. He called ahead for slip space in a marina he’d
visited before.
A dock hand waited to take his lines, and Will battened down for high winds before he dialed Liz’s house and spoke to Jilly.
“Daddy, where are you?”
“I’m in Virginia, sweetie. There’s a storm brewing, so I’ll have to stay a day or two.”
“I miss you. I want to see you.”
“I know. I’m lost without my first mate.”
“Goodie. You shouldn’t be going anywhere without me.”
“I see that. And I especially need you to help with the cooking. Beans are getting old.”
“Daddy.” She giggled as she said his name. “You should eat more than beans. When you get here, maybe I can remember how to make spaghetti.”
“I’m counting on it. I bet your Aunt Liz will help you.”
“I miss Isa. We did a good job, didn’t we?”
“You sure did.”
“Don’t be mad, but I miss Tadie too.”
He winced. How could he have made his sweet child so wary? He definitely had work to do. “I’m not mad,” he said, gentling his tone as he would with a skittish animal.
“Then when can we see her again?” Her little voice changed to one filled with excitement and hope, and Will relaxed, slightly, because what could he say? “Soon?” she asked. He could almost see her dancing on tiptoes.
“I don’t know.” Probably never. “We’ve got places to go and lots of people to see before we can stop in Beaufort again.”
“But I promised her. She must be very sad because I didn’t keep my promise.”
Will’s heart sank. “I’m sure she understands.”
“How could she? A promise is a promise. That’s what you always say.”
“Ah, yes, well … we’ll have to see what the future brings. Okay?”
Jilly didn’t answer.
“Put your aunt back on the phone for a minute.”
Becalmed: When a Southern woman with a broken heart finds herself falling for a widower with a broken boat, it's anything but smooth sailing. Page 22
