Nantucket Rose

by CF Frizzell

  “So…Last night? Ellis Chilton?”

  “She and Retta seem destined to be pals. Our paths have crossed a few times, including last night at the liquor store. She…well…” Maggie sighed as she closed the dryer and pressed the start button. “Somehow I’d forgotten my wallet and she ended up paying for my wine. It was all extremely embarrassing.” She returned to the kitchen to begin another round of bread.

  “She is very nice,” Laura continued, loading the dishwasher. “You know, my mom told me Ellis was the first of the island’s mariners to be out, and everyone just took it in stride because they’d known her forever. Apparently, people didn’t take to her partner Nicki, though, because she was from Detroit.”

  Maggie stopped abruptly. “I invited Ellis for a drink sometime.”

  “Yeah? That’s great, especially after she bought your—”

  “No, I mean, it didn’t even occur to me that she might be involved.”

  Laura shook her head. “Oh, she and Nicki broke up a long time ago. I don’t think Nicki ever hit it off with anyone around town. Sometimes, outsiders just don’t get accepted here. I felt bad for Ellis because she was going through hard times.” She rapped a tray against Maggie’s arm playfully. “So enjoy your drink. I think it’s cool.” She left for the common room as Maggie began mentally filing all the information.

  What does that say, she’s evidently been single for a while? At least the island’s open-minded—except when it comes to outsiders.

  *****

  “Shit!” Maggie kicked her trash bin and Retta rushed out of the room in a fright. “Sorry, sweetie. It’s okay. Come back.”

  She stroked Retta’s neck absently while glaring at the red cross-through she’d just put on the calendar, a guest cancellation that dropped her total to six for the July Fourth weekend. It was supposed to be one of the summer’s biggest, and even though right now Tuck’r had more bookings than any other week or weekend, it had a long way to go to being profitable. “Nine out of eleven rooms every week would be nice,” she grumbled. “At least five every week would keep us afloat. This measly ‘three here and four there’ just won’t cut it. And just six on the Fourth is unacceptable.”

  She ran her fingers through her mussed hair and growled down at her desk. A reprioritization of her operating budget, scaling it back to a minimum at the middle of June, had been smart. Not only did it ease her cash flow enough to guarantee a full summer’s operation, it freed some capital for additional promotion. But so far, the returns hadn’t shown up on her bookings calendar, and with June about to close, she worried.

  Laura arrived with a cup of coffee.

  “I’m heading home. You okay?”

  Maggie leaned back in her chair and covered a yawn with her palm. “Excuse me. Yes, just tired, I guess. Thanks for another great job today.” She knew Laura spent a good portion of the day cleaning the pantry and sorting books on the common room’s many shelves, busywork, because four bookings hadn’t required much from either of them. “I hope you weren’t bored stiff.”

  “Don’t think about it like that, Maggie. It’s early yet. There’s plenty of summer ahead, and the fall is fairly touristy, too. You’ve done a lot to get the Tuck’r Inn name out there, and folks will catch on. This is new, don’t forget.”

  Maggie let Laura’s genuine sweetness wash over her. She needed a pep talk, a few of them, and although Laura was young and even newer to the business than she was, Maggie welcomed her sentiment with opened arms. Can’t do much more unless I cut my only employee.

  She forced a smile and sipped her coffee.

  “Thank you. I don’t know where Tuck’r Inn would be without you, Ms. Kelliher.”

  “Just some honest thoughts, that’s all. The ideas you’ve been coming up with lately are awesome, by the way. Offering guests those package deals with other businesses is brilliant.”

  “I haven’t had many takers yet, but I’m hoping to let the concept sink in before I visit them again.”

  “Well, the discounted dinner at the Club Car is a great one for guests here four nights. So are the deals for a historical sites pass and for a whale watch. Guests should eat up bargains like those. My favorite is the Jeep rental with Young’s.”

  “They haven’t said yes yet.”

  “Make sure you tell them that Round Town Tours and elegant restaurants like Crest and Sol de Mer have agreed already. Young’s is all about family and enjoying the island. I think they’ll go for the idea.”

  “Keep talking. You’re good for my spirit.”

  “Tell you what else I think would be good for business?”

  Maggie cocked an eyebrow. “Sure. Let’s hear it.”

  “Really want to hear?”

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  “Well…Have you called Ellis about that drink yet? I think you need to go on a date.”

  Maggie blurted a laugh. “Oh, you think?” She set her cup back in its saucer before she spilled coffee on her slacks. She’d practically talked herself out of that drink and prioritized her personal life to “distant future status.” She couldn’t risk losing focus on the job at hand, and something told her Ellis Chilton had the potential to blur that focus in a big way. “Sounds like we’re through talking shop.”

  “No. Not exactly. When’s the last time you just had fun? It’s good for the soul. And you’ve been working for weeks without a break.”

  “I see. And exactly when should I do this?”

  “Any time. You know I’m free almost any night to come back and babysit.”

  Maggie dared try her coffee again. Laura’s idea had appeal, without doubt. Just getting out for an evening did sound heavenly, in fact, but not wise.

  “Hm. It’s very sweet of you to think of me. I appreciate that.”

  “Just do it, Maggie. Call her. It’s just a drink or two. It would do your spirit good and you know it. Sounds like Ellis likes you.”

  “Ellis Chilton—”

  “Is tall, dark, and handsome.”

  “I think you’re still hung up on your little girl pirate fantasy.”

  “She could be your Captain Sparrow, your Johnny Depp.” Laura giggled behind her hand.

  “God, Laura. Enough, already.”

  At the door, Laura glanced around the quiet common room and turned back. “Why don’t you take Retta for a stroll along the waterfront and think about it? We’re empty here, it’s a beautiful evening, and you’d love it.”

  Maggie debated the suggestion for more than an hour, sitting at her desk, trying not to look at the blank dates on the bookings calendar and trying not to feel frustrated. Shadows of defeat edged around her thoughts, compacted her timetable, threatened to overwhelm her business plan. I’ve managed slow start-ups before. They’re all stressful. This one is no different.

  “I deserve a break.” She shut off the laptop, tied a sweater around her neck, clipped Retta to her leash, and headed for the waterfront.

  Along Main Street, Retta inspected every shop door, every tree, and every loose sidewalk brick. At seven thirty on a Sunday evening, tourist traffic had dwindled, but Retta greeted the few she passed on the sidewalk, the locals, and everyone seated at every bench with endless enthusiasm, bright eyes, and a wiggle. Maggie marveled at how quickly a dog made friends and thought studying the canine “happy approach” might have merit after all. The idea of island businesspeople becoming friends brought a smile—and the reminder that such acquaintances would be short-lived, if her plan held and she moved on by summer’s end. At the same time, however, she yearned for Tuck’r Inn’s acceptance, and feared the opposite would happen should she speak of the transient nature of her work, of the inn as the turnaround project it really was. Sincerity, despite omissions, still mattered, but so did this project.

  They turned onto South Water Street and strolled to the end, twice stopping to chat with shopkeepers about the arrival of summer weather, the tourist volume, the lovely window box flowers, and dogs. In all, accomplishing little more than
strengthening friendships and passing the time. In short order, Maggie noticed the relaxation in her step, the massage of each breath of ocean air, and the absence of tension.

  “I guess I can admit it to you, Retta. A nineteen-year-old can give solid advice after all, even if it is to a forty-four-year-old. This is nice, isn’t it, sweetie?” Retta actually looked surprised, as if Maggie had just noticed. “I know it’s not news to you. Shouldn’t be to me, either.” She started them on a loop down to and then past Steamship Wharf, and then headed back along the water on Easy.

  “Such adorable little places right on the water. Not much room for a girl like you, though, but still so pretty.” Retta tugged her along and turned onto Straight Wharf. “Hey, what’s your hurry?” Nose to the ground, Retta led the way along the water’s edge. “Lots of boats, huh? You want a boat?” Even Retta raised her head to look from one to the next. “Have to make some money first, girl. That’s how it works.”

  They walked along the dock and Maggie couldn’t help but admire the variety of pleasure craft tied to slips. Occasionally, a boat owner said hello. A young boy even climbed over the side of his boat to pat Retta. Maggie wondered about pets on board, how sad, if families left pets behind to sojourn at sea.

  “I’d hate leaving you behind, Retta,” she said as they walked on, passing Old South Wharf. “But there’d be no place for you to run, not much to sniff. Sure, you could go—” She caught herself before saying the “S” word, but not before Retta heard what usually came next. She stopped in mid-stride and spun to stare up at Maggie with immense anticipation. “No, we’re not going there. I was talking about being on a boat, Retta. Just imagine how bored you’d be, sweetie. And where would you do your business?”

  Now that wasn’t an issue Maggie cared to consider. “Maybe boaters leave their pets home because it’s just better for the pets. Somebody should open a pet hotel, a fun, safe, comfy place boaters’ pets can go while their owners zip around on the ocean.”

  Retta was back sniffing, following her nose onto Commercial Wharf.

  “You don’t like fish, Retta. Can’t you smell it here?” She looked closely at the old trawlers docked nearby, their rusted hulls and decks loaded with coolers, cages, coiled lines and hoses, and an assortment of equipment that boggled the mind of a landlubber like herself. Elaborate rigs reaching high created a nautical skyline, and she contemplated the travails of fishermen hauling in acres of netting, battling the unforgiving sea as part of their daily job.

  “Too few appreciate what they endure,” she muttered, leading Retta along to another boat. “This one’s from Gloucester. That’s one hell of a long way.” Retta sat by her side and Maggie scratched the short fur between her ears. “Think they all spend the nights on their boats? Cheaper than hotels. Bet if Tuck’r offered them a special rate, we’d be full every night.”

  Retta looked up briefly, then led Maggie farther down the dock.

  “What? Think it might be a little stinky? All right, so it’s not my brightest idea.”

  Retta stopped and stared at two workers on a red trawler, and Maggie suddenly knew theirs had been the background noise she’d ignored for the past ten minutes. Heads down, working on a steel cage, they yelled to each other at very close range.

  Retta sat, apparently captivated, as Maggie surveyed the boat itself. The old tub creaked against its fenders, bobbing in place. The Tenn-acious hailed from Nantucket, impressive that it still functioned as a working trawler. Steel plating covered its hull, all the way to the bow and as far below the water line as she could see. Its rigging thrust skyward, tall and gawky, and everything on board seemed older than she was.

  Retta jumped to her feet and barked, tail swishing side to side in a frenzy.

  “Retta, shush. They’re busy. Come on.” She gave the leash a little pull, but Retta’s paws were glued to the wooden planks. “No barking. Stop. Now, let’s go.” Retta’s selective hearing had been activated. Maggie bent to her ear. “No, Retta.” She drew her against her leg and tried to turn. “Come. Now.”

  Retta jerked away, to the far corner of the stern, and Maggie stumbled after her. Then stumbled again, when Retta ran back to the opposite corner.

  Maggie’s temper rose. Bumbling around on a narrow dock was risky, not to mention embarrassing, and the sharp command she was about to shout died on her lips when someone else beat her to it.

  “Retta!”

  Both Retta and Maggie stopped abruptly and looked up to see Ellis move to the trawler’s side, set a hand on it for balance, and vault onto the dock. Retta nearly yanked Maggie off her feet again, dashing to greet her.

  “Whoa!” Ellis said. “Slow down, pretty girl.” She squatted and Retta ran into her arms. “You be careful with your mother. Humans on leashes can be trouble.”

  Maggie swiped disarrayed hair from her face. “Lord. Just when I think she’s decided on a favorite boat, she sees you.”

  “There’re just too many boats to choose from, huh, Retta?”

  Maggie watched Ellis dote on Retta, watched Retta eat it up and wiggle gleefully beneath Ellis’s hands. Guess I can’t blame her. “You spoil her something fierce, you know,” she said, managing to speak past the vicarious sensation of that touch. “She’s taken to not listening to me when you’re around.”

  “She and I are buddies now, I think.” Ellis stood, a presentation of hard-worked cargo shorts and battered T-shirt, carved arms and calves that Maggie found particularly striking. Ellis brushed at the rusty grit on her shorts and spoke softly toward Retta. “Sorry to be a bad influence.”

  “No, you’re not,” Maggie corrected her almost too eagerly. “You’re one of her best friends now.”

  Retta sat, butt wiggling restlessly as she stared up at Ellis.

  “You have to obey your mother,” Ellis told her, and rubbed Retta’s head. Retta licked her hand several times. “I doubt you’re listening to me either, right now.” She turned to Maggie. “A night off or just taking a break?”

  Maggie felt a bit restless herself. The vivid light in Ellis’s expression was as difficult to dismiss as the wild, tousled look of her. She seemed much nearer than the six or so feet that separated them, but Maggie didn’t mind at all. She spoke over the unexpected jangling in her stomach.

  “We’re just out for a stroll. We’ve never been on Commercial Wharf before.”

  “Well, this is the neighborhood.” Ellis extended an arm.

  Scanning the boats, curious about their function and routine, Maggie struggled to concentrate beneath Ellis’s penetrating gaze. “I can’t imagine making a living at sea. You’d have to be courageous and highly skilled just to come home from work safe and sound each day. That’s amazing to me.”

  “You grow with it. Or else.”

  “No doubt.” You grew with it, didn’t you?

  “In this neighborhood, we help each other as much as we can.” She nodded toward the elderly fisherman on the red trawler. “That’s Hank Tennon. He’s got some problems we’re squaring away tonight so he can head out later.”

  “Those cages need to be fixed now? He’ll go out tonight?”

  “Yes. If he’s lucky, it’ll just take a few days.”

  “If the weather’s good, I suppose that’s not totally unpleasant.”

  Ellis laughed roundly, and Maggie realized it was the first time she’d seen that rugged face light up. Her weathered look brightened with softness and warmth, and the flash of brilliant smile made Maggie’s breath catch.

  “It’s all about respect for the sea,” Ellis said. “It owes you nothing. No one here knows that better or has been doing it longer than Hank.”

  Maggie watched him drag one of the large steel cages across his deck. “I’m keeping you from helping. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. At the moment, we’re between projects.” She toyed absently with Retta’s tail. Ellis’s mischievous grin looked out of character. Lighthearted is very attractive on you. “Hank and I have to take breaks every couple of hours b
ecause he’s so single-minded and doesn’t always pay attention. We’ve been yelling at each other for years.”

  Maggie grinned back, happy to win a glimpse of Ellis’s humor. “Well, I’m sure he appreciates your help.” That Ellis spent serious time with this man said there had to a considerable amount of tenderness hidden behind that closed persona.

  Ellis looked back at Hank with something Maggie couldn’t pinpoint. Probably fondness and respect, she thought, maybe a longing to do what he does, or for times gone by. I know so little about you.

  “Do you live around here?” Maggie surprised herself by asking. Ellis didn’t have time for this, and here she was, being nosy.

  Ellis nodded at the dock. “The last slip.”

  “You live on a boat?” She stole a glance past the dozen or so slips to the large craft at the end.

  “Yes.”

  Maggie fought the urge to unleash a string of questions. Can this woman be any more fascinating?

  “Well, that’s just…remarkable.” She wished Ellis would offer more details, or better yet, an invitation. “Is it something you always wanted to do?”

  “I’ve been on boats all my life.”

  Maggie couldn’t tell if that was a “yes” or a “no.” She looked out along the dock again, as Ellis continued to minister to Retta.

  “It must require a lot of work,” she said. She waited an extra beat and realized Ellis wasn’t about to respond. Must you be so cryptic? “Keeps you busy, I bet.”

  “I enjoy keeping busy,” Ellis said without looking up.

  “Too busy for a drink some evening during the week?”

  Ellis turned to her then, that stoic, totally unreadable look back on her face. “My evenings are pretty full.”

  I should have known better. It’s for the best, anyway.

  Over Ellis’s shoulder, she saw Hank approach the side of the boat and lean on both hands, his haggard face twisted with discontent.

  She tugged Retta closer and prepared to leave. “Well, I’m sorry to—”

  “Chilton! You done socializin’ yet?”