by CF Frizzell
“Once in a while, the memories flash back, but I deal with it far better now than I used to.”
“And you let me take you through the house, brag about all the changes I’ve made to what you used to own?” She tossed the paper onto the desk. “Jesus, Ellis. How much fun can a girl have in one night, huh?”
Thank you for understanding.
“Honestly.” Ellis found herself wanting to be very honest. “I was surprised to be more fascinated than sad. Yeah, on the surface, things look different, but they fit. I-I never expected to feel…well, relieved. You haven’t destroyed the feel of the place. You’ve captured it, breathed new life into it, and that’s what matters.”
“Well, it matters to me what you think, especially now.” She stood and tugged Ellis into the kitchen. “We’re taking this wine onto the front porch.”
“I see.”
Maggie stepped outside and motioned to the glider. “When’s the last time you sat with a lady on your front porch?”
“Now you’re asking me to dig up the past?”
“I guess I am,” she said as they sat side by side. Retta nosed through the screen door and curled up at Ellis’s feet. “She adores you.”
Ellis stroked Retta’s ear. “And I love having her around.” Pretty fond of being around you, too, Ms. Jordan, even if the locale makes my head spin.
Maggie pushed off and set the glider swinging. “Forgive me, but I just can’t conceive of someone so strong and independent, so self-sufficient ending up on the short end of things. At the risk of overstepping here, would you tell me what happened?”
“Things just got messy. I’m not the businessman my father was.” She nodded toward the house. “I paid the price.” Not the most telling response, she thought, but accurate and all that she cared to convey at the moment. Talking with Maggie came easily, but recounting life’s devastating failures amounted to shameful exposure. And now, the gloominess of those times threatened to overtake her, spoil what had been a warm, stimulating evening.
“Ellis. I’m sorry—for your sake—that things turned out so poorly. I can only imagine how hard you fought to make it work.”
“Ironic, isn’t it? Things turning out like this.”
Maggie sighed as she shook her head. “Holy crap, you can say that again. Quite a surprise.” She swirled her wine. “But I’ll admit, I kind of like our connection. Knowing you makes this house feel more like a home, and I’m glad you’re here.”
To a degree, Ellis agreed, but the overwhelming nostalgia really felt more like a blanket pulled up over her head. She steadied her breathing and tried to relax in the warmth of Maggie’s welcome and her surroundings, but she wrestled against a threat of suffocation.
“I think it’s time for me to head out,” she said, standing, and Maggie rose beside her.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I understand. Please don’t let the past weigh you down, stop you from enjoying the present—and that includes this place. I don’t want you to be a stranger, okay? Certainly not here.”
Ellis wished they were anywhere but here right now. The Rose would have provided a perfect setting, because she so wanted to thank her for the meal, the hospitality, the understanding. Thank her in a big way. Like sweep-her-off-her-feet big. It’s been how long? Maggie’s allure surpassed the long legs, statuesque figure, and sultry eyes; her sincerity and engaging personality were irresistible, as magnetic as the home she had established. She deserves this house—and good fortune to go with it.
“Got a lot on my mind right now, and I think the walk will do me good.”
Retta hurried to her with the seagull. Ellis threw it into the yard and watched after her.
“She’ll go crazy when you leave,” Maggie said softly. “She’ll sit at the window for hours.”
Ellis grinned inwardly. Do they make widow’s walks for dogs?
Retta returned promptly and Ellis tugged her closer by the toy in her mouth and kissed the top of her head.
“If you let her out, she’ll follow me.”
“I’m sure she remembers where you live.”
Ellis threw the gull again and Maggie touched her arm.
“Anytime you need to chill, have a drink, I’d love it if you came by. You’re more than welcome.”
A corner of Ellis’s mouth inched upward. “I appreciate that, Maggie. Thanks for…everything. Tonight was very special, to say the least.”
“I can’t tell if that’s melancholy or mischief on those lips, but I’d like to see more of your smile.” Retta romped back from her successful forage in the shrubs and dropped her toy at Ellis’s feet. “Now, how can you turn down her invitation?” Ellis chuckled and Maggie persisted. “Please know I want you to feel comfortable here. Lord knows, you’re entitled.”
Her chest tightening, Ellis fought the sudden urge to flee. Standing on this porch, the roof she played on as a child now overhead, she felt the house closing in. Her jaw flexed, a nervous habit, and for a moment, she saw herself paralyzed by anxiety. Those days are long gone. Collect yourself.
“Maybe I’ve become a bit of an isolationist these past years, Maggie, or maybe I’m just out of practice, but please don’t take it as a reflection on your hospitality. I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.” Unable to resist the urge to touch, she curled a strand of Maggie’s hair behind her ear. “You just give me pause, make me think.”
“About good things, I hope.”
“Things I haven’t given a lot of thought to in a long time.”
“I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, but I certainly don’t mean to pressure you.”
“You’ve applied no pressure, Maggie.” I’ve applied plenty. She cupped Maggie’s cheek and lowered her head, spoke against her lips. “I enjoy the smile on your lips, too.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ellis had just isolated her sixth constellation when she detected reggae music off the water. Another steamy night, another party at sea. Have you booked any more cruises with Tug, Maggie? Reclined in her lounge chair on the stern deck, she refocused on the stars, but just as she’d found throughout another workday, thoughts of Maggie refused to abate.
That exquisitely soft kiss, lips freely offered, created a yearning Ellis hadn’t felt in years. And I initiated it without a second thought. There had been no reservations, no inhibitions, just that need to experience more of her, to taste her, be as close to her as she could.
Just where is this going? Why? What exactly do I want from her? Companionship? Sex? Sanctuary? She didn’t like what sanctuary implied. It forced her to look inward, and she hadn’t been particularly proud of what she saw for a long time. But she’d never been one to dump her troubles on anyone, and she certainly would never hide from them, use another’s strength to avoid them. She conceded the companionship and sex, although she did think Maggie took things a lot more seriously than that.
What is she looking for? A friend—or business partner with benefits?
There was the possibility that Maggie produced dinner and the tour of her achievements simply to demonstrate that a business connection between them would be just as professionally executed. Improbable. It couldn’t all have been to persuade me into a business handshake.
Barefoot in boxers and T-shirt, Ellis walked the narrow starboard rail and sat on the bow deck. “No,” she told the flat, black harbor water. “She wouldn’t be underhanded.” She’s interested in something that I’m…I’m what? Not ready for? Not interested in? Who am I kidding? “It has nothing to do with her,” she argued with the night. “I almost pulled it off, too, putting up the cordial front while everything came rushing back.”
Every room had tested her resolve, and she lay back on the deck, beneath the starry, moonless sky, and saw every detail. Memories and impulses had collided so vigorously that keeping her cool under Maggie’s observation had been an incredibly emotional struggle. Past has become present…for me, too.
The staircase, the kitchen table, the old faithful cookstove,
the uneven wood floors with their gouges and scuffs—the direct touches of family. The picture of Captain Pratt. Where did she find that?
“Face it. Not very smooth under fire. You were about to lose it.”
Memories Maggie had unknowingly revived now tapped on her heart with as much insistence as they had in the house. Better to face them, remember them one by one, than dwell on them as a whole. Maybe then the whole won’t be as hard to take. To think, a knee-jerk business plan turned it all into collateral. Collateral, for God’s sake.
Seeing her family’s century-old cookstove missing from the kitchen corner had almost broken her, but then discovering it, rejuvenated and full of life, had taken her breath away. Now, feeling tears rise, she sighed out into the darkness. “Thank God.” She snickered at her emotional attachment to a simple stove. The venerable Glenwood seemed invigorated in the common room, intent on offering visitors an immediate, tangible connection to the home’s history, and she was, admittedly, damn proud of it. Visions came to mind of stoking its firebox after a hard day’s work, of huddling around it with Granddad and her parents during winter storms, of her mother standing close, stirring a pot of oatmeal. “It should be in a place of honor,” she muttered and wiped away a tear.
Too bad I wasn’t smart enough years ago. Everything about the place deserved respect I failed to give. Maybe someday I’ll explain it all and Maggie won’t think as little of me as I do. In so many ways, it’s all about finding the courage.
Ellis stood, hands on her hips as she battled her guilt to another stalemate. “Jesus, Maggie. The closer we get…”
Some things are just a given. I earned that tour through the past like Ebenezer Scrooge, and this torment will last as long as Maggie and that house are in my life. Or until…what?
She dove off the bow to cool the hell in her head.
*****
“So all you can offer your starving artist sister are glorified hamburgers?” Rachel shut the refrigerator door and followed Maggie out to the grill. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
“This is Kobe beef, I’ll have you know. Chill.” Maggie started the grill and pointed a spatula at her. “You’re lucky I could whip this up, considering you just dropped in unannounced.”
“Well, hell,” Rachel said, settling into a lawn chair with a bowl of chips and a glass of wine. “It’s a wonder you’re not giving it to Retta. Did you at least make the hamburger buns?”
Maggie turned from the grill and looked around the yard. “Is Mom here?”
“God. Don’t accuse me of sounding like her.” Rachel leaned forward with another thought. “She’d be on your case about your date with Captain Moby Ellis Dick. Notice I haven’t started nagging you.”
“You only arrived an hour ago.”
“By the way, my room is just as beautiful as the last one I had. Absolutely love the bedspread. Remember that at Christmas. And thanks for letting me escape for a few days.”
“As if you gave me a choice.” Maggie pretended to talk on a phone and pranced around Rachel’s chair, mimicking her. “Please, please, pleeeease can I stay with you while they paint downstairs? You know I’ll end up hospitalized from those fumes. You know Mom and Dad will rush up here and blame you if you don’t.”
Rachel ignored her and fed Retta a chip. “You miss me. Admit it. Your social life is as wimpy as your spaghetti, so you need me.”
“I beg your pardon. There’s nothing wrong with my social life or my spaghetti. You just don’t like spaghetti, period.”
“Never mind that. Have you and your Nantucket whaler bumped uglies yet, huh? Right. Like no. Have you seen her since that night?”
“Ellis has been busy. And please use her real name.”
“Hmm. Well, I think it’s pretty weird that she finds out you own her house and now she won’t even face you. Hasn’t even called, I bet.”
“Not yet. I was going to call her tonight.”
“Don’t you dare!” Startled, Retta jumped to her feet, ready for action. “It’s been almost two weeks. Whatever her problem is, she needs to get over it.” Seeing no one going anywhere, Retta sat and accepted another chip from Rachel. “Do not get hung up on this woman, Mags.”
“Stop worrying, Mom. I’m not hung up.” Am I? “I’d just like to see more of her, and…I guess, I’d like her to want the same.”
“Be careful, big sister. Remember that you’re leaving by the end of the summer, so…”
Not the first time it’s crossed my mind.
“I’m just taking one day at a time, Rach. That’s all.”
“Know what I think? I think you’re having second thoughts about leaving. It’s getting tougher, isn’t it? Does she have something special that would keep you here?”
“Everything is special here. And Ellis has a way about her. I don’t know. She’s honest, kindhearted, and there’s a vulnerability about her that…She’s refreshing and I enjoy being around her.”
“Uh-oh. Remember what Mom thinks about islanders.”
“That’s just because your ex never left the house, let alone his island.”
“It was off the coast of Maine. Why bother?”
Maggie snorted. “And that left a distinct impression on our cosmopolitan mother.”
“As if either of us has pleased Mom in the past twenty years.”
“Well, Ellis probably wouldn’t either. She’s a pretty private person, sometimes even aloof.”
“Hard to get to know?”
“Yes.”
“So she’s related to this house. What else do you know about her?” She patted Retta and gave her another chip.
“Rach. None of those for her, please.”
“Okay, Mom. So? Shit, Mags, this is like pulling teeth.”
“Ellis grew up working freight runs inter-island and to the mainland with her father and grandfather. She’s been sort of a wharf rat all her life.”
“Interesting. She have family here still?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“Where’d she go to school?”
“She’s never said. I haven’t asked.”
“Oh. How old is she?”
Maggie shrugged. “My age, I guess.”
“Would she like my work?”
“I don’t know if she’s into modern art.”
“Hobbies?”
Maggie put the finished burgers on a plate and shut off the grill. “Come on before these get cold. I don’t know if she has any hobbies.”
“Christ.” Rachel unfolded herself from the chair, grabbed the spatula, and followed Maggie and Retta into the house. “So do you know anything else?”
“She lives on Commercial Wharf.”
Rachel laughed as she coated her burger with hot sauce. “Most wharf rats live on a wharf.” She glanced up and caught Maggie’s frown. “Wait. Your girlfriend lives on a boat? No shit?” She sat back, an eyebrow raised suggestively. “Ohhhh, now you’re talking. Very nice.”
“You can’t call her my girlfriend. And the boat is gorgeous, actually. Not modern but classic, as boats go, I’m told.”
“So it’s not an old freighter, I take it.”
“Well, it’s the family freighter, yes, but she’s made so many modifications, you’d never know what it used to be, except it’s big.”
“So Ms. Hunky Whaler lives on a boat. I love it.”
“Ellis isn’t ‘hunky,’ Rachel. She’s lean and strong.”
Rachel smirked as Maggie delivered their salad. “Uh-huh.”
“Dig in, would you?”
“She should have contacted you by now. You realize that, right?”
“She said she’d stop by.”
“What the hell does that mean? She likes you, doesn’t she? You cooked a dynamite meal for her, didn’t you? Is being in this place too hard for poor Captain Ellis?” Rachel stabbed her salad with a fork. “Shit. What’s the name of her boat? I’ll hunt it down and paint it pink.”
“The Nantucket Rose,” Maggie said with a l
augh. “Pink is good for roses, but I doubt it’s her color.”
“Listen, you better hear from her before I leave or I’ll be pissed.”
Chapter Seventeen
Maggie ended her phone call with Tug Whitley and stared vacantly toward the kitchen. Sporadic clanging yanked her thoughts from arranging another ridiculously expensive boat cruise. Probably looking to escape, Retta moseyed in and curled up on her bed.
“Rachel, are you waging war in my kitchen?”
“I’m making our supper. Mind your business.”
“Since when do you cook?”
“Get back to work. I’m busy in here.”
“Will I recognize my kitchen when you’re done?”
Hands covered with flour and wild hair barely contained by a red bandana, Rachel leaned against Maggie’s office doorway and puffed a curl off her forehead. “You’ll recognize coquilles St. Jacques pretty quick, I bet, won’t you?”
“Is that what you’re making? I thought my pots and pan were rebelling.”
“Listen, ungrateful sister. It’s going to be awesome and you’re going to kiss my butt that I’m staying here until this disgusting rain stops.”
Maggie was grateful, regardless of the disaster she’d have to clean up. A delicious meal with Rachel promised to bolster her failing mood. If she didn’t stop paying Whitley’s inflated prices for his lackluster cruises, Tuck’r would be broke by the end of August. Room reservations for the next month hovered at a 60 percent occupancy rate and seemed to be going nowhere.
No more. I won’t let you nickel-and-dime Tuck’r into the poorhouse, Captain Whitley. You know damn well that my package deal would’ve kicked us both up a notch for the rest of the season, if you hadn’t been so damn greedy. At least Ellis thought a mutual arrangement could work. She shut off the computer. Two weeks tomorrow, Ellis. You’re avoiding me, and I deserve to know why.
She leaned back and sighed. “You’re a sweetie for making supper, Rachel. Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be a treat, and I could use one.”
“More bad news?” Rachel waved her to follow back to the kitchen. Retta obeyed, too.
