The Pirate's Legacy

by Sarita Leone

  She tugged at the collar of the baby-blue hospital Johnny. Julia had tied it so tightly in the back that she felt nearly strangled by the ugly thing every time she moved. Which, granted, she wasn’t doing a lot of. Her left side had been cleaned and disinfected, but until the doctor took a look and gave his opinion, it could not be bandaged. So, not much movement, because between the choking neckline, blistered fingertips, and road rash along her side, she was not at her best.

  If anyone had to take the brunt of the accident, she was glad it was her and not Julia. Other than a burn from the exhaust pipe she’d landed on when the bike fell—and she fell on top of it—Julia was unscathed. To her credit, she wasn’t even too shaken up. Maybe the five Marlboros she’d smoked while they waited for the police to arrive had calmed her down.

  Chloe would’ve been wired for sound if she’d puffed her way through a quarter-pack of cigs but she was sensitive to tobacco. Sometimes even a smoky restaurant made her head spin.

  Different strokes for different folks, she guessed.

  “Are you having any pain?” The nurse folded the blood pressure cuff and stuck it into her pocket. The starched white uniform had massive pockets, one on each hip. From the other, she pulled a Bic and clicked it. She made a note on the clipboard lying across Chloe’s thighs. “Miss?”

  A man, dressed in a white physician’s coat over a pair of faded blue jeans and blue button-down shirt, appeared in the doorway. Initially she thought he was going for the fallen man, but he merely peeked into that cubicle, assuring its occupants the specialist was on his way. Then, he stood at the foot of her bed, crossed his arms, and smiled.

  And she could not tell anyone, not even if her life depended on it, what the nurse asked. The question had been struck from her mind the instant she got a glimpse at the handsome doc’s pearly whites.

  “Miss?” The nurse clicked the Bic several times. “Any pain?”

  Oh, right. Pain.

  Chloe shook her head. In the distance, sounding very far away, she heard Julia snicker.

  “Okey dokey, then.” The nurse handed the chart to the doctor. When she brushed past him, she said, “Doctor, the patient is ready for you. Real ready.”

  He did not respond to the woman’s sarcasm. There was no doubt that she gave him an intentional jab, followed by a withering smirk, but that didn’t faze him, either.

  A quick look at the metal folder chart, then to Julia. Back at the chart, which he closed with a snap, before he smiled and locked gazes with Chloe.

  “You must be the lovely Chloe. I’m Doctor Brown, and I’ll be treating you today.” He held out a hand, so she put hers in his. His skin was warm, and he slid a lazy thumb across the crest of her palm before he released her.

  “Uh…ah, hi. I’m—well, you know, I’m Chloe.” Even to her own ears, she sounded like a blithering fool so she shut her mouth.

  “Chloe Monroe, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer before looking down at her left hand. Running a fingertip over her bare finger, he said, “Mrs. Monroe? Or Miss? Or do you prefer Ms.?”

  She swallowed. Hard. Tingles shot up her hand, and they had absolutely nothing to do with the bandaged tips of her burned fingers.

  “Not Mrs.” It came out as a near-whisper, so she cleared her throat. “Not Miss or Ms., either. Chloe—just Chloe. That’ll do.”

  When he smiled she could not look away. “Such a pretty name.” He became more businesslike when the man in the next cubicle began shouting for the nurse. “Now, I hear you had a pretty unfortunate meeting with the pavement. A motorcycle accident?”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t good.”

  She glanced at Julia, who was sitting in a pea-green vinyl chair in the corner. The wall behind her was a ghastly shade of pink, so between the blue Johnny, green chair, and horrid wall, it was like being in a Crayola nightmare.

  “Not good at all.” Julia agreed. Somewhere she’d found gum and snapped it now. Chloe realized her own mouth, and by default her breath, probably could do with a little Trident, but she couldn’t very well ask, and her friend wasn’t offering.

  “The way I see it, it could have been worse, ladies. You could both be downstairs in the morgue, but instead you’re here. Guests in my ED.”

  “Ed?” Chloe was not up on hospital lingo.

  “Still have your tonsils?”

  “Ah, yeah. They’re exactly where they were the day I was born.” She hoped they were, anyway. “What’s that got to do with the accident?”

  “Not a damn thing.” He went to the sink beside the bed, turned the water on, and palmed his hand over an industrial-sized bar of soap. While he lathered, rinsed, and dried off, he said, “You see, most kids end up here when they’ve got appendicitis. Or a broken foot. Or tonsillitis. So, if you’d had an attack of the pus-filled, agony-inducing tonsils, you’d have been in a unit like this and would know ED stands for Emergency Department.”

  Duh. Heat warmed her cheeks, so she grinned. “How’d you know I never had appendicitis? Or a broken foot?”

  “I read your chart. You were questioned about past issues. Appendicitis? Heart failure? High blood pressure? Broken bones? No, no, no and no.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially and leaned close. “Currently pregnant? No.”

  So those questions hadn’t been just a pain in the ass formality.

  “I guess you ask all that stuff for a reason.” She raised an eyebrow and kept her tone light. “Now I know there’s no Ed hanging around the place.”

  “Nope. No Ed. Just me.” He lifted the edge of the hospital gown, exposing her side but preserving her modesty. A bit of side boob showed, but his gaze remained lower. “You’ve got a helluva rash there, but it’s been cleaned out well enough that it should heal without too much trouble. I’m going to write a script for an antibiotic cream. Apply morning and night. Keep it clean. Dry. You can shower, just don’t take a bath until it’s fully closed. And, any questions, call your family physician.”

  Pulling her gown back into place, he folded his hands near his waist and smiled.

  “Okay, thanks. Any idea how long it’ll take before it heals enough to go in the water? Not in the tub, but at the beach? I…well, I live in Lobster Cove, and every day is beach day in the Cove. You understand.”

  “I do understand. It’s not that far between here and there, believe me. So, the beach? Well, I’d give it time to scab over. You don’t want any sand in there, so a good, solid week. Any other questions?”

  “No, you’ve covered everything.”

  “The nurse will come back in and bandage your side. I’ll have her send you home with some samples for tonight, the ointment as well as some extra bandages. That way you’re set until tomorrow. If I recall, the little pharmacy on Main Street in the Cove might be closed by the time you get there. And I want the ointment on first thing in the morning. So…are you sure you don’t have any questions for me?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He flipped open her chart and scrawled something on the last sheet of paper. Tossing the chart onto the foot of the bed, he gave her a sun-dimming smile.

  “Well, that takes care of that.” He put his thumbs in his jean pockets. Rolled back onto the heels of the worn Frye boots on his feet. “Now we can get to the important stuff.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He didn’t bat an eye. Grinning like a cat in the only ray of porch sunshine, he said, “The important stuff. You see, I just signed my name on your file. So I’ve officially released you from my care. That means, no doctor-patient relationship breach when I ask you out.”

  Chloe was vaguely aware that Julia slipped from the room when he launched into the small speech.

  She blinked. Once. Twice. Hard to believe this gorgeous man was flirting with her, especially when she must look like—and probably smell like—crap.

  Chapter 7

  No one really knew how old the oak tree was. Everyone who saw it guessed at its age, but anyone who had been around when the massive tree was small was long gone.
There wasn’t anyone in the Cove who could recall a time the tree hadn’t been there, probably because in all of their lifetimes, it always had been.

  Six thin slate markers, slightly tilted and very worn, stood beneath it. Two said Sweet and on a third the “wee” was discernible, so assuming it had at one time said Sweet made sense. The rest were marked Fisher. On two there were anchor carvings in the upper corner, so they were probably seafaring men.

  The small graveyard beneath the tree wasn’t the only such spot in the village. Before the Lobster Cove Cemetery existed, families buried their loved ones in their backyards. Some homeowners had had the cemetery association disinter the remains from their properties and reinter them among the oldest headstones on the west side of the cemetery. Others never bothered, so scattered in with patios, sandboxes and flower beds stood grave markers.

  “I’m not sure we should be sitting under this old tree.” Reva had, for once, left her textbook inside. She put her head back and stared upward. “Does everyone see how the trunk is cracked? Up about twenty feet, near the big branch? Looks like it could snap any minute.”

  “They’re all big branches, silly.” Julia squinted, following the line Reva’s pointed finger made. “I see it now. It looks like the tree was hit by lightning, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re right, it does. Gabby, do you see that? I think the tree was hit in a storm.”

  Gabby peered up into the branches. She shrugged. “Honestly? Doesn’t matter a bit to me, just as long as it doesn’t keel over while I’m under it.”

  Julia raised an eyebrow. “Every woman for herself, huh?”

  “That’s right. If you hear it crack, run like hell, all of you.” The emery board she held stilled as she looked at each of them in turn. “You’ll know which way to go—just follow me. I’ve got better things to do than get squashed by a tree, I’ll tell you that much.”

  Reva nodded, as if the tree issue was solved. “Lightning. Has to be.”

  The radio was tuned to the local station. Set on the coast, the reception wasn’t great, so aside from Bar Harbor’s news station or their classical music broadcast, WLOB was the only choice. Thankfully, they played popular hits.

  She took a sip of wine, watching her uncle over the rim of the glass.

  His lips twitched so hard he put a hand over his mouth. They were seated in a loose circle in the motley assortment of lawn chairs they pulled from the shed every spring. Most, like everything else in the place, had seen better days, but they were still comfortable enough. Besides, they were better than the alternative, sitting on the ground.

  “What?” She loved seeing him smile. He hadn’t been happy when she and Julia walked in, bandaged and dirty. Carrying the replacement fuses hadn’t helped, either, because he insisted he had known all along the power company wasn’t responsible for the house having no electricity. When he asked what happened, neither she nor Julia gave up either story—power or motorcycle accident. The other two women had made dinner while they showered. Uncle Ted insisted on replacing the fuses himself, so to keep him from scolding her further Chloe had let him.

  With full bellies, everyone seemed mellower. And, with the air cooling down, attitudes were slightly adjusted.

  She was glad he’d stopped glowering at her. The smile was a vast improvement.

  “What, what?” He grinned fully now, pulling her into the game they’d played since she was a child. She rose to the bait.

  “Oh, you know what, all right,” she replied. “I know you know what—and I’m going to wait until I know what, too.”

  “Okay, we’ll both wait!” The first time she could recall that they had shared the absurd exchange, she had been about eight. The nonsense had brought giggles instead of tears, and she’d been able to relay the tale of being bullied on the playground by a boy named Bill Hunt. He’d screamed at her, spittle flying from his mouth to her face after he’d cut in line at the swingset. It had been awful, and she’d been upset but unwilling to talk about it at first. That is, until the silly game.

  Uncle Ted had accompanied her to school the next morning. And Bill Hunt apologized in front of the entire class. He never bullied her again, and she was pretty sure he didn’t bother anyone else, either. His family moved out west the following year, but the What game, as it came to be known, stayed.

  Uncle Ted shrugged. One leg crossed over the other knee, a casual pose that left the hem of his bell bottoms dangling so his ankle was exposed. A summer tan, with white feet where his sneakers hit.

  She supposed she could have let the grin pass, but she was curious. He looked good—strong, fit and happy. Her heart soared. He was all she had left in the world, and she wanted to keep him as long as she could. Forever, if possible.

  “Come on, what gives? I caught you laughing.”

  “Okay, you win. I was laughing.” He flashed her a peace sign, two fingers of his right hand in the v shape, as he smiled from behind them.

  “And you’re still laughing.” Julia pointed out.

  Dappled sunlight cut the shade, dancing on Ted’s hair as he looked at each of them in turn.

  “I don’t want to sound like an old sap or anything, but I’m content. I’m glad to be here, with all of you. It’s not a drag, living with you ladies.” He smoothed his moustache, weighing his words. “I don’t know where I’d be if you all weren’t here with me. I was the old fart who almost couldn’t go to ’Nam. Squeaked in under the wire, almost had to stay home, right? Well, who would guess I’d just about come back in a bag.”

  “But you didn’t.” Reva smiled.

  “And we’re glad you didn’t.” Julia rubbed the back of a hand over her nose. “Very glad.”

  “What’s in your head, Uncle?” Chloe considered getting up to hug him, but he’d gone from smiling to serious. No telling how emotional he felt; embarrassing him could make the conversation take a turn.

  “It’s just that I’m feeling very blessed right now, that’s all. We’re here, under this majestic tree, sharing some songs and spending some time. What more could a man want?”

  “Not a damn thing.” Julia giggled. “Except maybe some pot. That, I wouldn’t say no to. Not after the day we had.”

  “Well, there goes that sweet moment…” Reva shook her head. Turning to the man a few feet away, she added, “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here right now. Thanks for having me in your home.”

  He grinned. “Mi gato es su gato.”

  “You did that on purpose. Your Spanish is better than mine.” Gabby inspected a nail, giving it a final swipe with the emery board. “But if I had a cat, I’d share him with you, too. Those two look like cats with canaries in their mouths.” She jabbed the newly filed finger.

  The idea made Chloe chuckle.

  “We do not.” She turned and met Julia’s gaze. “Do we?”

  “I’m afraid we do, sister.”

  “Why don’t you tell us what happened today? The no-light zone, the fingers all bandaged up, Julia’s burned leg, and whatever it was that made you two late for dinner.” Reva ticked items off on her fingers.

  “Nothing to tell.” She patted her side. She’d worn a baggy t-shirt to conceal the bandage.

  “What about the scrape on the bike’s gas tank?” Her uncle’s tone had turned serious again. He wasn’t sharing houses or cats now. The joking moment had passed.

  “Nothing to tell.” Looking for backup, she hit Julia with a stare. “Is there?”

  She could see she was going to be ratted out a second before Julia opened her mouth. The gleam in the eyes gave it away.

  “Oh, hell yes, there’s something to tell. And, if you’re not going to cough up the details, I will.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, sugar. That man is hot, and you’re keeping it all to yourself.”

  The other women sat forward. It galled her that they were so shocked she had anything to do with a man—especially a sexy one. They could at least act like it wasn’t such a big deal.

>   “Am I sure I want to hear about this?” Her uncle acted scandalized but she saw through it.

  “Woo hoo, you’ve been keeping the good stuff from us!” Gabby leaned over so far her breasts practically fell from the low-neck shirt she wore.

  “Uh, Gab, you’re about to pop out.” Reva pointed. Turning to Julia while Gabby adjusted her assets, she asked, “Where did she find this sexy man? Don’t keep us waiting—this is better than wondering if the stupid tree’s going to fall on us.”

  “The where of it isn’t what matters.” Julia winked at Chloe, then faced the others. “The important thing is—you’re all going to see Mr. Hot Pants when he comes to pick her up for their date tomorrow night.”

  Chapter 8

  “Is it too much to ask, to have enough hot water to rinse my hair?” She squinted at the tarnished shower head, where water trickled in a quickly cooling spray. Shampoo made her right eye sting, so she closed it and gave a frustrated scream.

  There were no locks on the old doors, so Reva entered. “Are you okay? Not doing a Janet Leigh thing in there, are you?”

  Last week the local theatre had rerun the old Alfred Hitchcock film, Psycho. The pivotal scene, where the beautiful actress gets murdered in the shower by the deranged hotel owner had them all peeking behind the shower curtain before turning the water on. Surprisingly, the one most affected was the brilliant law student. Apparently even a logical mind is susceptible to having her wits frightened out of her.

  “No such luck.” She knuckled her eye, rubbing and blinking until the sting subsided. “I’ve got shampoo in my hair—and in one eye, which is probably beet red by now—and the hot water—which was never hot to begin with, only warm-ish—is giving out.”

  Reva’s hair was nearly waist length, and thick. “So not cool. That happened to me two days ago. I stood in the shower—waiting for the Bates guy to come with his knife—for fifteen minutes with the water turned off. I figured that if I waited, more would heat up.”