by Mari Labbee
“So what makes her so special? I mean, besides the obvious,” she asked.
He sat up a little straighter. “Well, she’s a ketch.”
“A ketch?” Bri repeated.
“People sometimes confuse ketches with yawls, but because the mizzenmast on the Audrey Natalia is forward of the rudder post, it makes her a ketch. She was built in 1963 and I think probably used for racing because of the short mizzenmast.”
Bri looked at him quizzically.
“It just handles better with that particular feature,” he explained. Then he went into great detail about luffs and wind shear, the full keel and trailing rudder, the jib and staysails—main and mizzen—all the different gauges and everything they did, and his only nod to modernity—radar.
He was fully in his element, and she couldn’t imagine that he had ever lived anywhere else; he was so comfortable here, in that spot across from her. He knew everything there was to know about the Audrey Natalia and everything that had to do with sailing. To see him was to know he was where he belonged.
“Don’t get me wrong, the newer fiberglass models are excellent, well-made, modern, but there’s just something about the old ones that I really love. There’s history built into every inch of them.”
She smiled wide.
Bemused, he looked at her and asked, “What is it?”
“Old wooden boats? Romance of the Seas? I was right, and this proves it; you are old-fashioned.”
He smiled, and supposed she was right, about that anyway. A few long minutes passed before she spoke again.
“You asked me once what brought me out here.” She pushed the little bit of spaghetti left in her bowl around in circles.
“Well,” she said with a shrug of her slender shoulders and a self-deprecating laugh, “I was a jilted bride. Isn’t that ridiculous? I’m a cliché.”
This explained a lot about her—all her second-guessing, never trusting her instincts. And this was something she wasn’t over yet, he would guess.
“I’m sorry.” It was all he could say, feeling genuinely bad for her and knowing more than she could imagine about it.
She nodded a little too forcefully.
“Don’t be. After all, you and I wouldn’t be here now, sitting on this gorgeous boat—uh…yacht—with a new friend.”
She smiled tentatively. He raised his half-filled glass of wine.
“To new friends,” he said.
“To new friends,” she repeated.
They clinked glasses. After she had swallowed, and without prompting, she continued.
“My fiancé and my best friend—who was to be my maid of honor—were having an affair. I caught them when I went to his apartment to show him our wedding invitations.”
She glanced down, looking at nothing in particular, calling up the memory, remembering the pattern of the grain of that teak floor. She had focused on it, that night, with a strange sort of fascination.
He felt her pain and understood a good deal about the depth of her hurt. He wanted to touch her, make her feel better, but right now she needed his ear, nothing more, so he quietly listened.
“I don’t know when the hell any of it started and have no idea how long it had been going on. I never suspected a thing; certainly didn’t see it coming.” She laughed, but it was almost followed by tears. “And you know, even though I saw them with my own eyes, I had a hard time believing it, wouldn’t believe it. But of course…,” she said sighing but quickly continuing.
“Pat and I were so close once. We met about a month after I moved to New York, and we were roommates for about a year. She was always trying to get me to try new things, make me a ‘proper Manhattanite,’ she would say.” She looked down, her face twisted with emotion. “She was funny, very funny, and, stupidly, I just miss her sometimes. And Ryan…well, he is just…Ryan. I thought we were meant to…,” She paused. “I wondered afterward if he actually would have gone through with marrying me. I mean, if I hadn’t caught them,” she explained. “If he didn’t love me…why would…why would he…” She didn’t finish the thought and looked over at Matt. “What would make a man do that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and he didn’t.
She went back to pushing spaghetti around in her bowl. She hadn’t just been jilted; she had been destroyed by the two people she had loved most. It was abject humiliation, that’s what he had picked up on. He had to resist the urge to reach over and hug her, but something told him she wouldn’t appreciate it.
After a few silent minutes, Bri spoke.
“I’ve been wondering what it would feel like when I said it out loud. I haven’t talked about it at all…haven’t told anyone.” She looked at Matt. “And you know what?” she let out a long, slow breath. “It feels really good.”
She settled back against the mizzenmast, a softness around her eyes now and a small smile on her lips. This had been deeper than rejection; it was betrayal, and that wound would take longer to heal. But he knew that wasn’t all. It explained some things, but it didn’t explain the fear he’d seen in her eyes when she had almost passed out in the great room or the unease he’d sensed in her while they were in the lighthouse. That was something else, but from the looks of it, she wasn’t going to reveal any more. What was she hiding?
“So what about you?” she asked. “I know you’re originally from Iowa…and, let’s see…you have a corny name…and you’re a great sailor…and you love the sea. So what else is there?”
“Jeez, I’ve said too much already.” He got up and took her empty bowl along with his.
“I know there’s more,” she said, her mood light, and he detected genuine curiosity in her voice.
“That’s pretty much it in a nutshell. I’m not all that interesting.”
“Are you kidding?” She looked around with an exaggerated wide-eyed expression.
“You tell me about how you set out across the country to find a place that was just a dream in your head, how you restored this boat, practically built her from scratch from the wreck she was, and you want me to believe you’re not interesting?”
He was flattered, and yes, they were sitting on his greatest achievement. But he didn’t trust himself to talk about what had him by the throat. The possibility of having to leave all of this behind. The conversation with his mother surfaced. Sell the boat, that’s what she had said. It’ll save the farm. Matt, sell it and come home. Selling the Audrey Natalia, as his mother had suggested, was his reality, and unlike Bri, he wasn’t ready to say that out loud. He didn’t want to talk about Iowa, the farm, the family, and everything happening back there, which left little else to talk about.
Most men loved talking about themselves, but Matt wasn’t like most men. Bri hadn’t quite figured him out yet. Once again he changed the subject as soon as it focused too deeply on him. There was something there, something bothering him. She would leave it alone; let him come around if he ever cared to, on his own time.
Night had fallen, and they sat on deck under a vast night sky, yet it felt cozy as she looked out at the harbor, where boats gently bobbed, tethered to their moorings—some dark, some beckoning with their warm cabin lights. It had been an incredible afternoon, and she wished it could go on forever, but nothing wonderful lasts forever.
She stood on the dock watching Matt as he secured the Audrey Natalia. It was late, and they needed to get her back to Jackal’s Head Point.
“I can’t thank you enough for today,” she said.
She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. Then she picked up the tote bag that had been leaning against her leg and started off ahead of him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The entire drive back, Matt thought about the kiss she had given him at the marina. A kiss on the cheek, platonic enough, but he felt a new line had been crossed. She talked cheerfully all the way back. Her mood was light and happy, but her conversation revealed nothing. He thought of how this might end tonight as he turned into Jackal’s Head Point. The
light from the truck’s headlights bounced along the gravel road ahead of them and finally illuminated the huge front door. He cut the engine and felt an awkward moment brewing.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said, almost too quickly.
He followed closely as she walked into the house and straight to the kitchen. The house felt different at night. Shadows danced on walls, following him as he went, and moonlight poured in through uncovered windows. It felt very different than in the daylight. He followed her into the kitchen, and she walked straight to the cupboards that held the coffee mugs. She grabbed two of them, and then she went to the refrigerator where she kept the coffee. She brought everything to where the coffee maker sat on the counter that overlooked the garden ruins and the clearing. She pulled the lid off the coffee canister, grabbed the measuring spoon inside, and then stopped what she was doing.
“Did you see that?” she asked.
Matt went over to stand behind her and looked out the window.
“See what?”
“I saw a light up in the lighthouse.”
They both stared out the window.
“Are you sure?” he asked, squinting. “I don’t see anything.”
“It was just a flicker,” she said, the measuring spoon frozen mid-flight.
“Maybe it was the moon’s reflection on the glass,” he ventured.
She didn’t respond and continued looking, waiting for the mysterious light to reappear.
“Or a small airplane passing on the other side.” More speculation.
“Maybe,” she said. “But I doubt it. It wasn’t that big.”
“Do you want me to go over there and take a look?” he finally offered.
She turned to look at him, and he saw that the fearful look had returned. But there was curiosity there too. She didn’t fear him; she was afraid of something else.
“Would you?” Just as quickly, though, she changed her mind. “No, no, it’s late.”
A weak protestation—he could tell she wanted him to investigate.
“I’ll go and take a look. It’ll take a minute,” he said.
“I’ll go with you,” she said to his surprise.
He didn’t think that was a good idea at all, remembering the last time they were in the lighthouse.
“I don’t know…” he said.
“I’ll be OK. I’m more prepared this time. Last time I didn’t know what to expect. I know now.”
He went along with it, but it didn’t make sense to him. They left the house a few minutes later and began walking to the lighthouse, Matt leading and Bri closely following. A few yards from the lighthouse, the now-familiar tightness in her chest and the impending feeling of doom gripped her. The calm and tranquility of the day vanished. She reached for Matt’s hand. These emotions must be fought, they weren’t even real. She set her jaw, straightened, and strode purposefully forward, believing in her courage. But as they stepped into the suffocating void of the lighthouse, the dark oppression of that first time bore down on her again.
The inside of the lighthouse was pitch black. The moon’s light shined weakly through the tiny window high above them. Blessedly, the darkness made it hard to see any details, though she couldn’t forget those details if she tried. However, not actually seeing them now lessened the feeling of doom. She let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding and gripped Matt’s hand tighter; he was her lifeline at this moment.
Their footsteps echoed as they began their climb, and she worked at blocking out that short, clipped, sound as it reverberated around her. Three-quarters of the way up, at one of the windows, Bri looked out. The moon’s ghostly light outlined the edge of the woods and the sea grass far below shimmered in the night breeze.
At the watch room below the lantern, Matt turned to her.
“Are you sure you’re OK? You want to keep going?”
Bri nodded.
They climbed up into the lantern. In the distance, Selkie Rock’s beacon beamed across the sea for miles. Like a strobe, the light appeared, disappeared and then reappeared in short, steady bursts. Could that have been what she had seen, the reflection of Selkie Rock’s light? It didn’t seem likely.
The air was thick with salt and brine. Above them, a dome of stars covered every square inch of sky, stopping abruptly at the horizon. A heavy chop had come up, and foam-topped waves rolled in from all directions, rushing, jostling one another out of the way, only to shatter against the rocks. She watched them, following each one, until the moment of their death against the rocks of Jackal’s Head Point, leaving only mist behind. They had a strangely calming effect.
Matt stood closer to her; he hadn’t let go of her hand. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”
She heard him but didn’t answer. She just continued watching the waves. There was no reason to keep on holding his hand, and she could have slipped out of his grip, but didn’t.
Matt looked at Bri. The first time he had seen her—that morning she had smashed her thumb with the hammer—he’d thought she was pretty. But somewhere along the way she had become achingly beautiful. In the moonlight, her skin looked like polished porcelain, and her blue eyes reflected the dark sea. She looked otherworldly. Never had a woman gotten under his skin so quickly. This was a first.
Spellbound, she kept watching the waves roll in, lulled by them, and her hand had gone soft in his, but she hadn’t let go.
He’d tamped down his feelings from the beginning. Bad timing, bad idea, he had told himself. Too much going on in his life right now; a relationship of any kind would be nothing but an obstacle. Still, what was coming wouldn’t be stopped. It happened quickly and completely by instinct. The hand that had been holding hers slipped smoothly across to the small of her back, and once there, he pulled her to him. She turned, and they locked eyes. Neither spoke as Matt slowly bent to kiss her. The slow burn rose to a fiery pyre quickly, and instantly all her senses were filled with Matt.
She barely remembered anything after Matt kissed her. Climbing down the lighthouse, crossing the clearing, coming into the house, going up the stairs and into her room, all of it a blur. The languid pace of the afternoon was replaced by feverish exploration. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this. Honestly, she had to admit she had never felt this.
He whispered her name as he buried his face in her hair. The stubble of his cheek grazed hers, and she shuddered. His skin was smooth and warm, his breath hot against her skin. Their hands were clasped together tight, fingers entwined.
She pulled on the cotton sheet and sat up in bed, hugging her legs to her chest, reliving the past few hours in her mind. She stared at Matt sleeping soundly next to her and studied the chiseled planes of his face in the pale light—his touch, his taste, the sound of his voice—the memory of it all fresh and clear in her mind still alive on her body. She softly brushed a silken strand of hair away from his eyes with her index finger. He stirred, and his warm body touched hers, awakening every nerve. His eyes were closed now, but a few hours ago, those eyes had looked into hers so deeply that she’d lost herself in them completely. No one had ever looked at her that way before—no one.
It was too soon after Ryan. Too soon for any kind of relationship. Now everything would be different between them. And with that thought, the old anxiety surfaced. It certainly would be different, but would it be good? All this was happening too fast. Was this fated to go the route of a brief rebound relationship? Statistically, that was the highest probability. She looked at Matt—she hoped not.
More than once, she’d thought that maybe there was a chance she’d be able to repair her relationship with Ryan. If he had come to her, begging an apology, she would have considered it. Everyone is entitled to a mistake, she had thought then. But sitting here now, watching Matt breathing evenly next to her, she was happy that she hadn’t tried to fix that irreparable thing. Still, the fear of her secret was there. She’d have to deal with that eventually. It might b
e too early to start worrying about that now, but she couldn’t help it. The worry was always there.
I’ll never be able to have children, she had whispered to Ryan, and he’d smoothed his hand over hers and told her that it didn’t matter, but in the end, it had. She knew Ryan had wanted a family; he talked about it often. A tear rolled down one cheek, surprising her. It wasn’t for Ryan, though; she could reliably say she was over him. It was for the death of something, the knowing that something that once was is gone forever and for the void it leaves behind. And now, lying beside her, was the possibility of a whole new world of hurt and pain.
Outside, waves battered the rocks of Jackal’s Head Point. The lighthouse stood shadowed in milky moonlight. A warm breeze floated into the bedroom through open windows, filling the room with the fragrance of night and ocean. Matt snuggled closer, as if he knew she’d been thinking of him. A smile came to her lips. She wanted so much to just be happy—happy with her decision to come here, happy about the decision to buy this old house, happy about meeting Matt. He turned on his side, his breathing heavy and deep. What would happen once he completed the work on the house? Hell, what would happen tomorrow?
She was tired of thinking and finally gave in to exhaustion. Spooning with Matt, a contented weariness wound its way through her body. Just as she slipped away, she heard a voice, distant and faraway. She would not remember hearing it later.
“What is yours is mine…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Who’s there?
Bri opened her eyes but remained perfectly still, listening. Something was moving around in the darkness, something scratching. It stopped. She was afraid to even breathe.
There it was again—not something but someone—footsteps shuffling softly against the wooden floor and quiet breathing.
Bri did not move, other than to cock an ear toward the sounds. They were coming from near the door. Bri turned her head slowly, trying not to make any big movements, focusing only on the sound.
