Two Weeks in August

by Nat Burns

  Two Weeks in August

  By Nat Burns

  Bella Books

  2010

  Copyright © 2010 by Nat Burns

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

  First Edition Bella Books 2010

  Cover Design: Linda Callaghan

  Editor: Katherine V. Forest

  ISBN-10: 1-59493-173-9ISBN-13: 978-1-59493-173-4

  About the Author

  Nat Burns retired early from a publishing career in Virginia to relocate to the balmy Rio Grande Valley of Texas with her partner Carol. There, surrounded by palm trees and Spanish tile, three cats tolerate their gales of uncontrolled laughter. And Natty continues to write, compulsively, which the cats and Carol endure with scathing forbearance. www.natalieburns.net

  This book is for my life song, Carol, who has always believed.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks go out to Karin Kallmaker for welcoming me so graciously into the Bella family. And to Katherine V. Forrest: an editor unparalleled. She helped me rethink my dull, aimless words and sharpen them into more effective tools.

  I’d also like to thank all the avid Bella readers who make new books possible.

  Chapter 1

  Several island acquaintances had warned Nina about Hazel Duncan, owner of the rental cottages where Nina would stay while awaiting remodeling on her new home. And, true to their word, Hazel, called Hazy by the locals, was an unusual character. In fact, she was the most unusual woman Nina had met in her entire life.

  Upon arriving at Channel Haven, a semicircle of bright blue cottages facing into Assateague Channel, Nina found the small rental office deserted. She waited several minutes, tapping her foot impatiently. She vaguely remembered these cottages; had passed them by many times on previous visits to Chincoteague Island, but knew little about them and had never met the owner.

  Not thrilled, to begin with, over the prospect of staying in a rental cottage for several weeks, Nina found herself overreacting to the enforced wait. Plus, her stomach was rumbling from hunger, the moist sea air felt clammy on her skin once she was inside the confines of the office, and her back had stiffened from the long drive. She was just not in the mood to be kept waiting. Maybe she should have renewed her lease on her old apartment for another year and then sublet it when her island home was ready. Ah well, she thought miserably, at least this way she would be available to consult on the finer points of the remodel. After tolerating a few more minutes, she angrily left the office, allowing the screen door to slap shut, and strode onto the adjoining dock to lean against the railing. She tried to let the magic of the waves, and the accompanying wind, soothe her as she drank deeply of the raw beauty surrounding her. As it was approaching midday, the heat of the August sun had coaxed the cobalt of the sea and the jade of the marsh into brilliant hues.

  Turning her face into the wind, savoring it, she was shocked to open her eyes and see a woman’s face no more than twelve inches from hers. A strong metallic fish odor attacked Nina’s nostrils and she backed away reflexively from the woman and the stairway on which the woman stood.

  The tall blonde, probably an employee of Channel Haven if not the owner, eyed her with annoyance and brushed past, a string of fish dangling from one hand. Nina watched the retreating back, too surprised to move. The woman walked quickly into the office cottage, disappearing from view. Nina came to her senses and raced after her.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, are you…” She paused. The rental office was still empty.

  “Damn!” She slapped a palm against the doorframe. What type of game was this? A sound penetrated and she realized that the woman was running water in the back somewhere. Aggression warred with timidity. Aggression won and she moved toward the sound.

  Again, she found her nose inches from the woman’s as the woman almost walked into her from the back room. She pulled back and assessed Nina for a long moment.

  “Can I help you, miss?” Her blue eyes were cold and her voice sarcastic, the accent decidedly British, typical to the island, but it caught Nina off guard. The woman stirred impatiently as Nina groped for words.

  “Are you Hazy? I called…you said you had a cottage…”

  The woman nodded, and then sighed as she once more roughly pushed past Nina. This time she took a seat at the large metal desk situated just inside the door.

  “Name?” she asked impatiently, pen poised over an open notebook filled with lined paper.

  Nina crossed to stand before the desk, feeling like a student about to recite. “Christie, Nina Christie.”

  Her lips felt tight. Why was the woman acting so boorishly? She was not her parent and Nina resented the way this scenario made her feel: like an aggravating child.

  She tried to calm herself. Deciding to employ an old trick she had learned in a psychology course while at college, she pressed a forefinger to her lips. The exercise was designed to make an antagonist less threatening. It was simple really, best if you had time enough to run through the whole exercise. If time was short, at least concentrating on the procedure was enough to defuse a potentially bad situation. She’d used it several times in the past and it had always worked. It was an easy process: study the threatening person and break him down into manageable parts, into non-threatening morsels.

  The unfriendly woman appeared to be fortyish, not too tall, perhaps just under six feet, not too heavy or too thin. She was muscular though and filled out her thigh-length denim cutoffs and faded yellow T-shirt nicely.

  Nina began the exercise with Hazy’s head. Her hair was light, a blond bleached almost white by the sun. It needed trimming; the sides which may have once been closely cropped now hung more than an inch or so over her ears, giving her a scruffy, small-child air that amused Nina. Her frustration began to fade.

  Hazel’s face was unusually square for a female and deeply tanned. When she scowled, as she did now because the pen wouldn’t write, lines showed at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Nina remembered her eyes as very blue and very cold. Nina, nevertheless, pushed on; they hadn’t been that cold.The body appeared well toned and fit and was bronzed pale brown by the sun. Nina watched, entranced, the interplay of arm muscles as the woman shook and then cursed the recalcitrant pen.

  Moving her eyes downward, Nina noticed that Hazy’s feet were bare, with toes unpolished but well cared for. There, see? Hazy wasn’t so big or so bad.

  The woman exploded suddenly, pitching the pen forcibly against a far wall, turning Nina’s thoughts into a lie.

  “Bloody progress,” she exclaimed, more to herself than to Nina. “We should have stayed with the quill.” Her voice faded as she bent over the desk drawer seeking a replacement.

  Nina couldn’t help herself. It really was funny. She giggled and slammed her right palm across her lips but it did little good. The tide would not be stemmed.

  The woman’s head rose and she eyed the new guest in confusion. This set Nina off again until she knew her face was red and tears were spurting from pressed together eyelids. Hazy must think her totally insane.

  “I…I’m sorry,” she gasped finally. “It’s just…”

  How could she explain her amusement?

  “I’m afraid I’m tired. It was a long drive,” she finished lamely.

  Hazy had been watching Nina giggle, mouth open and eyes wide. She shut her mouth finally, fumbled out a tooth-scarred pencil from the drawer and bent back to the paper.

&nbs
p; “Address?” she said curtly.

  Chapter 2

  Nina was assigned to cottage number eight, situated near the center of the semicircle of cottages. Nicely furnished, it offered a subdued plaid sofa and pine paneling. The living area rug, a deep beige color, perfectly accented furniture that was in rich brown tones. A handy desk, chair and lamp lined one wall. The large kitchen appeared to be fully equipped. All she had to supply was food. Luckily, she had picked up a few items from roadside stands along the Delmarva Peninsula for lunch and could deal with the hunger caused by a too meager breakfast.

  The bedroom was larger than she expected, with a double bed and a small closet. A tall, narrow bureau stood just inside the bedroom doorway and she placed her overnight case and briefcase atop it. She stood her larger suitcase at the foot of the bed. She would worry about unpacking later.

  The best thing about her cottage was the huge windows in each room. They provided a wealth of lovely scenery which she took a moment to appreciate. Most importantly, the water of the channel was a mere fifty feet from her door, right behind a ground-level concrete embankment that outlined the wide Channel Haven drive and parking area. Seagulls and other waterfowl would be her constant companions during her stay here, as well as the soft language of the waves and the warm channel breezes.Walking outside the cottage, she paused next to her car. She should unpack the rest of her things...she really ought to. She should eat something…

  It was no use; the water was irresistible. She strolled across the wide drive that passed before the cabins, berating herself for wasting time when she was on deadline. She simply had to have a manuscript and summary back to Martha by the day after tomorrow.

  All that was forgotten as she reached the sloping boat ramp that allowed people to load their boats onto partially submerged trailers and transport them from place to place.

  Nina couldn’t have found a better place to stay. Family friend Emma Loreli’s establishment, called Sweeping Pines, though lovely, was situated on the much calmer Little Oyster Bay, which separated mainland Virginia from its nearest island, Chincoteague. The Assateague Channel, the wide band of ocean that separated Chincoteague and the barrier island Assateague, was much livelier, corresponding more with the ocean’s heartbeat. The winds seemed stronger as well, scouring cleanliness into everything they touched.

  Her shoes flipped from her feet and she waded in heedlessly. The foamy water grasped teasingly at her calves, let go, then grabbed again. She breathed deeply of the spicy breeze, feeling warm contentment steal over her. This was definitely home.

  Later, after a simple brunch of fruit salad made from peaches, cantaloupe and strawberries, Nina got right to work.

  Although her parents always pushed to take care of her financially, and her grandfather’s death had left her well off, Nina still preferred to work. She actually enjoyed her job. She had always loved to read, even as a small child, so when she had seen an advertisement soliciting readers for a large publishing company while still in college, it had seemed a dream job too good to be true.

  Investigating further, she discovered that although the pay was nominal, she would be the first to read some of the newest novels published. In fact, she would have a part in deciding how a pending novel would be promoted. Because she had a degree in psychology, Jennings-Ryder Books had assigned her to the young adult market and she had been asked to create a detailed questionnaire about how certain novel elements would affect age-specific readers. The challenge had been daunting but Nina had leapt upon it with enthusiasm. Now, after completing each preliminary manuscript, she would fill out a detailed psychological profile of the book and note possible outcomes. She had taken the job two years ago and never regretted the decision.

  Martha Jennings, the editor she answered to, had become Nina’s second mother and personal cheering section. During the past year, Martha had developed a close friendship with Nina’s mother as well and often spent weekends at the Alexandria home of Nina’s parents.

  Nina sat at the desk, the manuscript before her, and slowly read the final two chapters. Then the work really began. Opening her computer, she thoughtfully, carefully, referring often to notes made earlier, completed a five-page detailed synopsis of the book, a sword and sorcery fantasy this time, then typed in several pages about possible reaction to the work and specific points she liked or disliked as she completed the questionnaire.

  Free wireless Internet access had been one of the selling points of Channel Haven and Nina logged on, using the information provided on a card next to the lamp. She called up her e-mail account and wrote Martha a long chatty letter, attaching the questionnaire and summaries. Afterward, Nina hesitated a considerable time, gathering courage, and then opened her inbox. She was crushed to see nothing from Rhonda. Her mother had written, however, and Nina was glad to hear gossip from home. Her old home. Several friends had written as well and Nina spent a good while answering everyone, telling each how excited she was about her new island home.

  Altogether, it took her four hours and after sealing the annotated manuscript into a mailer, she was shocked to see that it was half past three o’clock. She rose from the desk and stretched. A hot shower was in order. In the bathroom, a tousled, weary-eyed Nina stared back at her from the well-lit mirror.

  Thank goodness this book was finished. Rarely had she encountered such trouble getting through a novel. Sword and sorcery was not something she would have chosen for herself but she was sure the fans of this particular author would welcome it. Now she would have several days free until Martha sent another manuscript for her to read and review.

  She stripped and stepped into the hot shower, scrubbing tension from her body, and then slipped into a fresh T-shirt and shorts. Few things in life felt better than a hot shower and clean clothes.

  As it was still only late afternoon, Nina decided she would take a quick ride around the island. It would be interesting to see what had changed since her last trip here when she and almost the entire island had gathered to say a final goodbye to her grandfather, Captain Tom.

  Chapter 3

  Leaving Channel Haven, Nina headed left, circling toward the causeway which provided entry onto the island from the mainland, or actually, from the Delmarva Peninsula. This was familiar ground and she always enjoyed the drive alongside the water. Chincoteague Island wasn’t very big so only by going deep inland to the biting-fly infested pine thickets could she escape a view of the surrounding water. Although she’d traveled inland extensively, nothing pleased her as much as witnessing the vagaries of ocean where it met the island shore.

  To Nina’s left, in the green and gray salt marsh, a lone white egret lifted in unexpected flight. She watched the graceful soaring spellbound until an ominous humming alerted her that her Volkswagen had strayed dangerously close to the guardrail. She sighed and returned her attention to the road, her entire being sated by the beauty of crisp white wings against dappled blue sky.

  The causeway road sloped downward and memories escaped their dwelling within her heart. How many times had she traveled that string of bridges during the past twenty years? Many times, it was Nina and her mother, her father too busy maintaining his real estate empire to accompany them. But mother and daughter came nevertheless, drawn irresistibly by the call of the ocean tides and the spirit of the islands.

  And Grandpapa Tom, of course.

  Nina’s mother, Freda Burley, had grown up on Chincoteague Island, the lovely narrow ten-mile long island sandwiched between the Delmarva Peninsula and Assateague Island, the barrier island of Virginia and Maryland. She had spent the first eighteen years of her life in the care of her father, Captain Tom Burley, and a mother-hen housekeeper named Anna Cargill. Freda’s mother, Emily, died suddenly when Freda was three, from a cerebral hemorrhage brought on by a second pregnancy.

  Yet Freda’s childhood had been idyllic. The pampered child of a grieving father and in the charge of a devoted housekeeper, she roamed the island freely, known well by the locals and
living closely with the nuances of nature. She had, as the old salts said, the sea in her.

  When her own daughter was born, Freda and husband Patrick Christie deliberately made their home in nearby Alexandria, Virginia so visits to the island were a common occurrence. And Freda told Nina the island lore, about the ponies, about the ghosts that haunted the islands, and especially about the one in Woods Grove who carried glowing orbs of other spirits as she searched for her own orb. Freda had also told Nina about her own childhood, her reminiscences full of detail and joy.

  Nina wasn’t sure she had the sea in her—not yet, not having lived on the island full time, but she did realize her own childhood visits to the island were a precious jewel she would always cherish.

  And now Chincoteague would be her home.

  Nina studied the small island village, somewhat isolated and abused by the harsh salt climate. The red and blue trawlers, their mooring lines trailing like too-long whiskers from dancing boat to dock, reminded Nina of Grandpapa Tom. She saw his long, fine mustache swaying with each exhalation as he told her stories of the ocean, recalling his days as a deckhand on Little Murphy, Norfolk, then as captain of his own boat, the Lady Say out of Chincoteague.

  Seagulls sported above her car, begging with playful cries. Normally Nina would grin at their foolishness but today pangs of sadness tugged at her. The Lady Say was gone, sold to an old friend of Tom’s, and she would never hear Grandpapa tell another story, or smell his rich pipe tobacco, or feel the almost painful hug from his strong, heavily muscled arms.

  Perhaps living in his house would help keep Grandpapa Tom alive in her heart. Perhaps escaping her life in Washington, DC, would help the memory of Rhonda fade from that same heart.