by CF Frizzell
“You know, Retta, they’re not just a resort company.” Retta lifted her head and blinked at her. “They’ve just begun branching out, and now they own two B&Bs like this in Key West and two on Myrtle Beach. Your mama does her homework, little girl.” She gazed around her office and out into the common room. “Should I stay a step ahead and go for something in Provincetown after this? I could probably pitch it to her.”
Retta stood and stretched, then meandered to Maggie and sat. Maggie bent down and rested her cheek atop Retta’s head.
“Getting ahead of myself, huh? But I really should firm up the next project. That place on the East End off Commercial Street was adorable, and you’d love Provincetown.”
Retta drew away and licked Maggie’s cheek.
“Okay, okay. One thing at a time.” She straightened and eyed the laptop screen warily. “My package deals are good, damn it. We have to fill these gaps. I need to push harder, get more restaurants, more activities on board with us. Offering a sightseeing cruise would be outstanding, don’t you think?”
*****
Maggie frowned at the tray of scones and muffins she handed Laura. Her confections were top-notch this morning, but her concentration was far from her work.
“What’s got you so preoccupied? These look yummy.”
“Hmm? Oh, just wishing one of those charter operations would go in on my deal. I went to one outfit Wednesday afternoon, and three yesterday, but it was like pulling teeth. And now the couple in the rose garden just asked about a cruise—the third inquiry this week alone. We’re so close.”
“Yeah. Seems like every other day, someone asks. Still not even a call back?”
“No. Well, Roberson’s called, but I think he was more interested in taking me out than our guests.” She poured herself a glass of orange juice and leaned against the counter. “So frustrating. Nobody offers anything like it, a stay that includes a cruise, and we’d be unique.”
“I don’t think you should give up, Maggie. That deal for three nights with cruise and dinner is a steal, and it’s bound to be a moneymaker.”
“I agree. We’ve got the stay and the dinner parts nailed down. Too bad the cruise part is missing.”
“Hey.” Laura came back across the kitchen. “What do you think Ellis would say?”
“Ellis? She doesn’t do public cruises. She’s on the ferry all day. Besides, she lives on her boat.” Maggie allowed the image of Ellis at sea to cruise through her mind for the third—or was it the fourth—time today. Damn it. What is it about that woman?
“But doesn’t she have weekends off? What if Tuck’r offered that great deal on weekends? Think she’d be interested? It doesn’t seem like there’d be much work involved on her part, right? An hour or two here and there would mean easy money.”
“There’s a lot more to it than just puttering around the island with a few passengers. Liability, for one.” She rinsed her glass in the sink and spoke out the window. “And somehow I don’t think Ellis is much of a people person.”
“Couldn’t hurt to ask, could it?” Laura went off with her tray, but Maggie lingered over the notion. She pictured herself, practical and reasonably persistent, squared off with Ellis, reserved and firmly entrenched.
The image was enough to draw her and Retta back to Commercial Wharf that afternoon. Retta had seeing Ellis in mind, no doubt, and led the way with typical, dogged determination, while Maggie simply had to see where and what Ellis called home.
“She’s not going to be here, sweetie. She’s working.” Maggie kept Retta’s leash short, guarding against being swept off the floating pier, but let her patrol left and right and investigate their path.
Maggie inhaled deeply and let the air refresh her. The congested, tightly packed “neighborhood” of their last visit here differed greatly today, and the absence of many trawlers opened broad portals to the bright sky and harbor breeze. The sun singed her arms and legs, though, and beat on her head, and she wished she’d worn the new Nantucket cap she’d bought several days ago. She also regretted not applying suntan lotion. Retta, sporting her water-resistant fur coat, panted steadily yet remained undaunted in her sniffing.
“Hardworking boats,” Maggie told her, and they stopped to study the worn scalloper tied to the dock. “Bet this one has seen its share of bad weather.” She empathized with the seamen who faced such work. She’d heard that Nantucket’s big scallop season came in February, not a time of year to be close to the Atlantic, let alone on it.
One broad-beamed boat remained as they moved to the end of the narrow pier.
“This must be it.” They took in the formidable stature of Ellis’s boat. “Wow. This is impressive. Don’t you think?”
Retta glanced up at her, as if asking permission to board.
“No.” Maggie shook her head. “She’s not here right now. We only came to look.” She gave Retta a consoling pat on the head. “Did you think she’d have something this big?”
They stepped closer to the piling. Loops of thick, imposing rope drew taut off the large cleats on the dock and secured the boat firmly. She envisioned Ellis handling them with swift precision, never breaking a sweat. A hefty electrical cord extended up and over the side, connected on the near end to the utilities post at the end of the pier. A neatly coiled hose sat nearby at a water spigot.
With no thought as to why, Maggie set her hand on the side of the glistening blue hull, rust-free in stark contrast to its workhorse neighbors. The steel was warm from the sun, and so solid, so fortified. No surprise there. She looked down and imagined the blue bottom to be far cooler below the water line. Probably a lot like her.
A lone deck chair and tattered paperback sat near the open rear, away from the hard-top canopy that sheltered half the spacious deck. “You could probably park three of our cars in that space. And, God, this thing is long. You can’t even see the front end from here.” She stroked Retta’s head absently and tried to picture a handful of paying guests seated comfortably, sipping cocktails, ogling the island’s coast and its many picturesque homes, absorbing Ellis’s narration as she drove.
“How she must love this view. Who wouldn’t, huh? Parked here at the end, no neighbors from here out, just the harbor with boats passing by.” She sighed. “How relaxing can it get?” What kind of books do you read up there?
“That’s a decent-size cabin for driving, don’t you think, Retta?” She pointed to the bridge as they wandered alongside, but Retta didn’t seem interested. “It’d be fun, lounging in the sun up there, right in front.” She eyed the graceful sweep of the bow as it curved away into an assertive, wave-piercing stance. “Must be a force on the water. Certainly formidable, so long and wide…and so pristine, so well cared for. It doesn’t look as if she takes it out much.”
She gazed back along the hull. “She must have quite the place for herself downstairs. Too bad we can’t see inside. How nosy are we, Retta?” She wished she could lean far enough over the edge of the dock to peek in the small windows. Retta tried in her own way, flat on her belly, front paws hooked over the edge, nose extended as far as possible. Maggie laughed when a little splash against the hull startled Retta back up into a sitting position. “A fish, sweetie. Probably nosy like us. And don’t even think about catching it.”
Ellis probably does her share of fishing, she mused as they retraced their steps. Probably fished these waters since she was a little girl and has a wealth of tales about fish, sharks, whales…
“Maybe someday she’ll tell us what it’s like to live on a boat.” Back at the rear of the boat, Maggie smiled at the name, the arch of pink script lettering outlined in silver. “Nantucket Rose doesn’t sound like you, Ellis Chilton. I do love it, though.”
Pondering the source of such a sweet name, Maggie recalled what little she’d been told of Ellis, that she’d been around the docks since childhood, that this was the boat on which she’d worked with her father. And that he had died some time ago. No wonder you live here.
“
Do you think she chose the name Nantucket Rose, Retta? Maybe for a special love she had? Or maybe her father named the boat, like, after her mother?”
Do memories haunt you? Do you share your Nantucket Rose with anyone? Would you?
“God, Retta. She’s a bit of a mystery, isn’t she?” They started away along the dock. “Maybe everything’s just black and white to you, girl, but she’s definitely not.”
Chapter Nine
Fresh from the shower, Ellis stuffed towels and sheets, along with her day’s work clothes, into the laundry sea bag she kept beneath her bed and evaluated her housekeeping as she dressed. Not bad, she thought, and spared a thought for her own appearance. Now in dress jeans and a pale blue short-sleeved shirt, she scanned the galley. Dishes washed and put away, floor swept, and everything clean and in its place. She snatched open her new fridge and reassured herself about the beverage selection she’d purchased that morning. There were plenty of jumbo shrimp for shrimp cocktails, and even two varieties of cheese to have with crackers. Topside, where she assessed equipment and its readiness, things were shipshape. If a certain pretty lady agreed to a boat ride later, the Rose was prepared.
Am I?
Try as she might, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d entertained on board, let alone invited an intriguing woman for an evening cruise. And that’s what she’d decided to do. Actually, she didn’t think she had much choice, and told herself as much, as she walked down Centre Street to the Brotherhood. It was the Fourth of July, after all, so the subject of going “somewhere” to watch the fireworks was bound to come up. Watching them off the beach, especially with the harbor and its quaint setting as backdrop, was a “must” for someone who now called Nantucket home. Did you catch the little parade downtown this morning? A newcomer like you needs to experience Nantucket tradition.
“Hopefully, she can use a little break as much as I can.”
Entering the dark confines of the Brotherhood, she waved to the bartender and spotted Maggie along the bar, seated in front of a half-empty chocolate martini. Ellis checked the bar clock, glad to see she was exactly on time. She’s early. She looked back to catch Maggie watching.
In linen skirt and jacket, she certainly stood out among the tourists and regulars, especially when she turned on her stool and swung crossed, shapely legs into view. Her warm gaze deepened, and Ellis couldn’t help but enjoy the greeting. Damn if you aren’t the finest-looking lady here, Maggie Jordan.
“Ellis, hi. Good to see you. So you’re the punctual type.”
“Hi to you, too. Punctual, yeah.” She rubbed her naked wrist awkwardly. “I never forget my watch, but tonight…” She accepted the bottle being offered by the bartender and ordered another martini for Maggie.
“Thank you.” Maggie nodded at the beer. “Your usual?”
“Syd remembers every time.” She turned the bottle to display the label. “You should give this a try. Cisco is Nantucket’s own. We’re proud of it.”
“Next time I will. Glad to support the local cause.” Maggie moved to her feet gracefully as her drink arrived. “Shall we grab a table?”
Ellis followed her to corner seats, enthralled by Maggie’s relaxed air, her poise and confidence, and for a moment, saw them sitting down for a business meeting. Well, she is a polished businesswoman.
“I’m usually pretty punctual myself,” Maggie said, “although the hours I’ve been keeping lately have done a number on that. Now I’m lucky if I remember the right day of an appointment, let alone the time.” She shook her head at herself, and Ellis wondered just how hard a B&B manager worked. Maggie held up her glass. “Today I was early. I’d thought about treating myself to these all day and couldn’t wait. Sorry I started without you.”
“Oh, I can relate. No problem.” How many drinks ago did you start?
“I’ve been shameful. This is my third—and final one of the night. I’m switching to water.”
“Well, you’re not driving anywhere, right?”
“Right. But I hate not keeping a level head. God, you must think I have a problem. First, you catch me begging for wine, and now I’m swigging down martinis. But to tell you the truth, I haven’t indulged in months, too much hard work.”
“I can relate to the hard work. If you don’t let it push the wrong buttons, you’ve done a good job. And there’s nothing wrong with honest self-examination at all.”
“Then here’s to self-examination.” Maggie tapped the rim of her glass against Ellis’s bottle. “I think this could become one of my favorite places on the island,” she said, looking around. “I love the low ceiling, the old wood beams and brick walls.”
“Tourists love it, too, unfortunately. I mean, we wish we could keep it to ourselves, but I know, if it weren’t for the tourists…”
“Exactly. Tourists matter.” Maggie fidgeted with the tiny candle at the center of the table. Ellis watched the soft light flicker across her cheeks and couldn’t look away from the subtle touch of powder blue eye shadow, the curl of long lashes. She’d just torn herself from the view when Maggie looked up and spoke. “Retta sends her love.”
“Give her a hug for me, please.”
“I’ll do that,” Maggie said. “She was beside herself with joy last weekend when a couple from Hartford checked in with their Westie. Poor Retta sulked so badly when they left, I had to take her swimming for three days.”
“Loves the water, huh?”
“You can’t say the word ‘swim’ in any form without her going crazy. She’s even learned how it’s spelled.”
“She’s a great dog. I enjoy her very much.”
“Thank you. That’s sweet. Too bad you never had one. Have you really spent your whole life here, on the ocean?” Ellis nodded. “Has that been by choice? Never a desire to…to see the world, as all good sailors do?”
“I’ve seen enough, and Nantucket still is my choice. I think islanders here develop a special strength and integrity from living with these waters, the seasons, and I wouldn’t change that for anything. I think that’s why we’re all so protective of this place. It’s who we are and we’re grateful for the nurturing.”
“So I’m learning. Mr. Tennon didn’t seem too thrilled to hear I run another B&B, even though I’m sure he’s aware of what tourism means to the island’s economy.”
“To him, it’s ‘despite’ the tourism. Hank would turn back the clocks to the nineteen seventies, if he could, when things were simpler all around. There are some topics I just don’t bring up with him. It just gets him too worked up for his heart meds.”
“But you have to agree, growth is good for everyone, native islanders included.”
“Oh, I try to enlighten him when I can, but I agree with him on some things, too. I’m one of those ‘native islanders’ who is happy we’ve put in some killer restrictions. It’s kept the chains, the McDonald’s of the world, from turning Nantucket into Coney Island, thank God. Off-islanders who don’t have a clue aren’t welcome to come here and fumble around.”
Maggie nodded and slid her half-empty glass aside. “Well, I don’t think I’ve heard it stated quite so succinctly before. I hope I can do justice to a Nantucket B&B.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I bet you and your B&B will fit in well. But some outfits just think hit-and-run. They just show up for the big bucks and don’t give a damn about impacting the island, that’s all.”
“Well, I did my homework for this. Establishing Tuck’r Inn as a classic Nantucket destination is a goal I’m proud to work toward. Granted, our first season is a bit of a struggle, but I’m working hard at it.”
“Running a business by yourself can be tough, I know.” She sipped her beer, knowing she’d rather change the subject than get too far into that one. “Look, this is spur of the moment, I suppose, but…What would you say to a run out into the harbor to catch the fireworks tonight?”
Maggie’s eyebrows rose as she sat back. “You mean on your boat?”
“You could probabl
y use a break from the routine as much as I can. And if you want to become an islander of any kind, you have to see them from the water.”
As they strolled through the humid twilight toward the Rose, Maggie contemplated the wisdom of sailing with a virtual stranger, and being so one-on-one with a woman so remarkably intriguing. But those concerns paled in comparison to maintaining the impression of “becoming an islander,” as Ellis understandably believed. The urge to level with her rose strong and loud, and actually upset her stomach. She wasn’t the deceitful type, hated false impressions.
But what little she knew of Ellis advised Maggie to keep her master business plan under wraps. She couldn’t afford to be seen as one of those “unwelcome hit-and-run off-islanders,” and, surprisingly, it mattered whether Ellis saw her as one. Right now, Ellis didn’t have a clue about the kind of woman Maggie was at all, so it was too soon to come clean. They definitely needed more time, like this evening’s boat ride, to get to know each other. Besides, Maggie enjoyed Ellis’s easygoing style and her quiet demeanor, was a bit enchanted by the attachment Ellis held for Nantucket, and didn’t want to spoil any of it with a misconception.
“Lots of boats going out tonight,” she offered, as Ellis returned the wave of a family sailing past. At the Rose, Ellis climbed over the side and retrieved a two-step wooden box, which she promptly dropped into place on the pier alongside the boat.
Maggie accepted her offered hand and stepped up, over the side, and onto the spacious white deck. So big, it didn’t tip a bit, she thought. Awfully big for one person. Big enough for at least twenty guests to lounge comfortably.
“Welcome aboard.” Ellis seemed a bit undone at the moment, hands in her pockets, scanning her surroundings as if she expected to find something out of place. “Ah, would you like to look around before we get under way?”
