Kisses in the Rain

by Pamela Browning

  "Then you ought to stick around and find out what's going on. You might not like it, but it should be an interesting story."

  "I've already reserved a seat on a flight back to San Francisco next week. I decided yesterday that since I hadn't heard from Nick for a couple of days I might as well cut my losses and get out of here."

  "I thought he was your business partner!"

  "He is, but I could handle all our business by mail. I've got these people baking cookies for me in their houses, and I can communicate with them by email and phone. I could ship them the supplies like Sidney does me, and sell the cookies online, and—"

  "Martha, I almost forgot what I called to tell you. I read in the paper that Sidney has filed for bankruptcy."

  "Bankruptcy!"

  "Yup. It's in the business section today. 'Sidney Pollov Enterprises has filed under Chapter Eleven.' That's what it says. Sidney was overextended trying to start his Thai One On take-out business, and the whole shebang is going under. Which means you don't have a job."

  Martha felt weak. No wonder she hadn't received a paycheck for the past two weeks. No wonder Sidney hadn't answered her phone calls. Now all she had left was the cookie business.

  "Martha? Are you all right?" Lindsay demanded.

  Martha felt sick to her stomach. "Just shocked, that's all. And yet not surprised. I had an idea things weren't going well for Sidney. He seemed awfully uptight when he came here to visit."

  "Maybe you'd better hang on to that reservation on the flight out of there next week. You might need it."

  "I'll have to talk with Nick," she said heavily. "I'll have to decide whether to keep on with the cookie business or find another job—or both."

  "I'm so sorry about your job, Martha."

  "Maybe it's for the best," she said unhappily.

  "When you come back to San Francisco, you're welcome to move in with me. Sigmund and I would love having you here."

  "Thanks, Lindsay," Martha said, but the thought of living in a household that included Sigmund didn't appeal to her in the least. In fact, San Francisco no longer held any attraction for her, she realized with a sinking heart. Even its fogs seemed feeble in comparison to the magnificent mists that roiled into Ketchikan off the Tongass Narrows.

  Come to think of it, going back to her former way of life in the Lower Forty-eight was totally unappealing. Martha could no longer imagine painting her eyelids in shades such as navel orange and jaded green; she didn't ever want to wear expensive clothes just because they were dictated by the whims of some fashion editor. She'd grown to appreciate the simple things in life, such as flannel shirts, hikes on the mountain, kisses in the rain and the laughter of a child.

  Now that she didn't have a job, she'd have to get on with her life somehow. But how?

  She'd better talk with Nick before she made any firm decisions. She could keep it businesslike. She didn't see how she could resume a personal relationship with him, never knowing if he was planning to run out on her.

  She'd talk with Nick. But first she'd have to find him.

  * * *

  His assistant at the cannery told her that Nick was back from his trip, but he wasn't there when she stopped by to see him.

  She went to Wanda's house, and Hallie told her that Nick was back at Williwaw Lodge, that Davey was still with Hallie, and that if Martha wanted to talk to Nick she was perfectly welcome to use the shortwave radio in Wanda's kitchen.

  "No thanks," Martha said, shuddering inwardly at the thought of Wanda's large household hearing the things she had to say to Nick.

  She went to help Randy, who was dismantling the Bagel Barn on the dock. He pulled the iPod buds from his ears as she approached.

  "I wish I could get out to the lodge," she fretted to Randy, who as usual knew exactly what was going on between her and Nick.

  "No problem," he told her as he slid bolts into a plastic bag. "My cousin can take you in his boat."

  Randy apparently had a relative for every purpose, thought Martha as she huddled in the bow of his cousin's runabout braving flecks of spray that the wind blew off the water. And it was a good thing, or she'd never be able to surprise Nick like this.

  "Thanks," Martha said when the boat had dropped her at the dock at the lodge. She tried to press some money into Randy's cousin's hand, but he only waved it away and headed back out into the bay. Martha stood on the dock, gazing at the log cabin and recalling all it had meant to her. Then she squared her shoulders and marched up the slope to the door.

  She knocked, and the door swung open. Nick blinked under her hard, penetrating stare.

  "Martha! What are you doing here?"

  "I came to talk to you," she said, watching him. "May I come in?" He still had exactly the same effect on her; her mouth went dry and the hair on her arms stood on end. If only they could get this over with!

  Nick wore an old sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. His feet were bare. He looked tired. There were purple half circles beneath his eyes, and his hair was tousled. He looked as though he'd just awakened from a nap.

  Once inside, she slipped out of her windbreaker and hung it on a peg beside the door as she had so many other times. She swung around to face Nick.

  "I've lost my job, Nick. I won't be working at the Bagel Barn anymore."

  "What happened?"

  "Sidney Pollov Enterprises went bankrupt. Lindsay called with the news a couple of days ago."

  Nick ran a hand through his hair. "We still have our cookie business, Martha. You mentioned expanding it. And the cruise-ship business—don't forget that. You've barely scratched the surface."

  "I'm going back to San Francisco next week, Nick."

  He stared at her, completely taken aback. He felt as though the air had been struck from his lungs. "Martha..." he said. He realized that they were still standing in front of the door.

  "There's no point in arguing," she said, surprised at the way her voice gave no hint of the strain and anguish she'd suffered.

  "Martha, let's sit down," he said, indicating the couch. He pulled up a wooden footstool so that he sat directly in front of her. He reached out and took her hands in his. She pulled them away.

  Martha aimed her eyes at the fireplace, the pictures on the wall, anything so she wouldn't have to look at him. She found herself thinking about the way he slept with his mouth open. It seemed a stupid thought to be having when she was trying to disengage herself gracefully from their relationship.

  "I have a plane reservation for next week," she said.

  "We can't possibly run this cookie business long distance." Nick paused, searching for the right words. He cleared his throat. "What I really mean is that I don't want to," he said finally.

  "Then consider the business dissolved." She knew what she would do. She would go back to Kokomo and start a cookie business there. She had lots of friends in Indiana who would welcome her with open arms and open mouths, the better to feed them cookies. The nice thing about being in the cookie business was that you could sell cookies anyplace. Everyone loved cookies, especially her cookies. She loved cookies. In fact, she wished she were eating one right now instead of sitting here with Nick and—

  "Martha," he said, and it sounded as though he were a long way away instead of sitting in front of her looking distraught. "Martha, you're crying."

  The tears rained down on her hands, falling as gently as the Ketchikan rain. The difference was that they were warm. The rain—the real rain—was always cold.

  He gathered her into his arms, staggered at the thought that he had hurt her so much. And she was ready to leave. She wanted to dissolve their business.

  His brain whirled in painful circles. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to think. He was terrified at the idea of living his life without her. His days would be unbearable if they were unpunctuated by her loving looks and her vivacious laughter. Life would be meaningless without Martha.

  Now was the time to reassess the meaning of his promise to Hank. As he tho
ught about it, he realized that he had to break that promise now. It was time to violate what he had always considered a sacred confidence.

  He kissed her cheek. Her tears were salty on his lips.

  "Dear Cheechako," he said, knowing at last that he was doing the right thing. "I should have told you everything long ago. I was being loyal to the wrong person, to someone who has been dead for years." His eyes searched her face. He saw love, and he saw pain. He couldn't let her go on hurting.

  "Listen," he said gently. "Listen to the story I have to tell you."

  And then he began to tell it for the very first time.

  * * *

  Nick's childhood friend, Hank Patton, returned from his stint in the navy ten years ago with one goal in mind: to be a partner with Nick in a fishing venture. It was what the two of them planned to do ever since they were boys growing up together in the wilderness on Mooseleg Bay.

  Nick was already working with his brothers and his father on their Novak and Sons fishing fleet, but it was easy enough for him to be in business with Hank at the same time. The two of them bought a small boat at a bargain price, and Nick divided his time between the trawlers of Novak and Sons and the boat he co-owned with Hank. It was a good system; that way, Nick got along with his father and brothers all the better. They had no quarrel with Nick's going into business with Hank. Dan and Fred had long known that this was what Nick wanted to do.

  Nick was still unmarried, but Hank brought his wife Jillian, a pretty nineteen-year-old brunette he'd met in Corpus Christi, Texas, back to Ketchikan. Jillian had a hard time adjusting to Alaska, a place she'd never seen before her marriage except in pictures. It was an environment that the shy, gently reared Jillian could scarcely have imagined.

  Jillian Patton found Alaskan men too rough and Alaskan women hard to get to know. She missed her family. She hated the rain; she longed for sun. It was no secret around Ketchikan that Hank and Jillian's marriage was in trouble almost from the time Jillian first set foot in Alaska.

  But Jillian was pregnant when she arrived and looking forward to motherhood. Hank became busy with the boat, which he and Nick had named the Puffin after the black-and-white birds that inhabit the rocky cliffs of Alaska's coastal waters. The baby was born, a girl, which disappointed Hank. He'd always longed for a son.

  Hank's disappointment in their firstborn only made things harder for Jillian, who spent a great deal of time alone with their baby in their little house in Ketchikan while Hank and Nick were out highlining. Jillian decided that the best thing to do was to give Hank the son he said he wanted, but when their second child was born only a year after the first, it was another girl.

  Nick grew to like Jillian, and when Hank didn't pay much attention to his growing daughters, Nick, with his love of children, found himself naturally gravitating toward them. He rode Kitty on his shoulders and he pushed Dina in her stroller while Hank watched television or read the newspaper. Nick was aware of Jillian's extreme misery.

  "If only I could go back to Corpus Christi for a while," she said to Nick one day when he stopped by to talk with Hank and found Jillian with her eyelids swollen from crying and the kids screaming and looking neglected. "It's been raining every day for a week, and I can't take the kids to the park. This place is driving me crazy, Nick. If only I could go visit my parents and sit in the sunshine."

  "Why don't you go this summer?"

  "I mentioned it to Hank, and he said we can't afford it." She twisted her wedding band. Nick had never seen Jillian so unhappy.

  "I'll talk to Hank about it," Nick promised. Then he went to Hank and told him that instead of splitting the profits they made on the Puffin half-and-half, he'd be willing to take less. Nick didn't have a family to support, and he was assured of his income from Novak and Sons. Hank argued, but when Nick made it plain that Hank's larger share of the profits would make it possible for Jillian and his daughters to fly to Corpus Christi for a long visit with her family, Hank reluctantly agreed.

  Jillian came home from Corpus Christi with a renewed determination to make her marriage work. She became pregnant again shortly after her return, but to her disappointment and Hank's, their third child was another girl. They named her Kaley. And Hank and Jillian began to have bitter fights over almost everything.

  Nick never knew exactly how Hank met Dolores Long. He began to suspect that Hank had a woman hidden away somewhere when Hank began to insist that he'd rather take the Puffin out alone, freeing Nick to spend more time with his father and brothers. Hank and the Puffin went trolling for longer and longer periods of time. Sometimes when Hank should have been available Nick couldn't reach him on the radio.

  Hank became distant, remote. Sometimes he forgot things that Nick told him. He was easily distracted. At first, Nick attributed this change to Hank's troubles with Jillian. It didn't take long for Nick to realize that there was more to it than that.

  Hank did a foolish thing, and afterward Nick thought that Hank must have wanted to get caught so he could confide in someone. It was clear that his deception was exacting a painful penalty of guilt.

  Hank and Nick, out on the Puffin trolling for salmon, dropped anchor one night in a remote area off Kuiu Island. It wasn't where they normally anchored when they fished these particular grounds, and Nick had been uneasy about maneuvering the Puffin in so close to land.

  "It's all right, I've been here before," insisted Hank, and so they anchored not far from shore. They ate dinner in the tiny galley as usual, but it seemed to Nick that Hank seemed more alert, jumpier than he'd ever been before. They turned in early, and Nick awakened once in the night to hear the familiar sounds of the dinghy being lowered into the water. Groggy with sleep, he paid no attention.

  But later he heard more sounds, and this time he was fully awake. A glance at the other bunk told him that Hank wasn't there. Nick stumbled onto the foggy deck to find Hank rowing toward the Puffin in the dinghy. He had clearly gone ashore earlier. It was just before dawn.

  Nick silently helped Hank load the dinghy aboard the Puffin.

  "Mind telling me where you've been going out here in the middle of nowhere?" he asked mildly.

  "Nick, I can't," Hank said, looking guilty.

  There was a long silence. During that silence, Nick added two and two and got the answer. He turned away in disgust, unable to speak to his friend.

  "Nick, don't tell anyone. Don't tell Jillian," Hank begged, running after him, the sound of his boots a hollow echo on the deck.

  Nick could scarcely contain his contempt. "I can't believe you'd do this to her," he gritted through clenched teeth.

  Hank looked miserable. "If you knew the anguish I've been through over this, you wouldn't judge me. Jillian and I haven't been getting along for a long time, but I won't leave her. She'd have a hard time taking care of herself and the three kids."

  "You're all heart, aren't you, Hank?"

  "I love Dolores. And she loves me. Maybe I can set things right eventually, but for now this is the way it has to be."

  Nick refused to discuss it any further at that point, but later Hank told him the whole story.

  Hank had started seeing Dolores frequently in Petersburg, and the beautiful young Tlingit woman with long flowing hair and skin the color of antique ivory had quickly become an obsession. Hank worried that someone from Petersburg would tell Jillian about Dolores, so Dolores moved into an isolated cabin on Kuiu Island, where she lived with her grandmother, Elsa. Dolores was a talented craftsman who carved walrus ivory for the tourist trade, and living in the wilderness was quiet and conducive to her work. It was an arrangement that everyone found satisfactory, at least for the time being.

  Then Dolores told Hank that she was going to bear his child.

  "I want to marry Dolores," Hank confided unhappily to Nick, but Nick refused to listen to such talk. He was concerned about Jillian's state of mind. He suspected that she had turned to alcohol for comfort. By that time, Hank was deeply in love with Dolores, who gave birth to
his long-awaited son. If Hank had any affection left for Jillian, Nick didn't see it, even though Jillian, unaware of Hank's relationship with Dolores, claimed that she still loved him. Nick couldn't imagine how Hank was going to get himself out of the mess he'd made of his life.

  Hank never had to face that question. One night, when he was out on the Puffin, Hank noticed that the red light on the mast was out. He climbed the twenty-foot mast to insert a new bulb. All of a sudden the wind picked up and the boat began to roll violently. The mast snapped, and Hank was thrown into the cold sea.

  Dolores, her son in her arms, rushed out on deck to see Hank struggling to stay afloat in the water. She screamed and ran to the stern, watching Hank trying to swim. In the icy water without a life jacket, Hank's strength faded fast. The boat was still pitching and rolling, and great spurts of spray drenched Dolores and her infant son. She threw Hank a line, but she lost her footing on the wet deck and she and the baby were flung into the roiling sea.

  Dolores and the child were tossed onto some nearby rocks, where she huddled, barely alive and trying to keep her screaming baby warm. She was unconscious by the time another vessel fishing spotted the Puffin as it broke up on the rocks and, looking for survivors, found the mother and child.

  "Dolores regained consciousness long enough to tell them what happened," Nick said. "She died of exposure the next day. But the baby lived. Davey was their child, Martha, Hank and Dolores's child."

  "Then the picture in your photo album—that was Dolores, wasn't it?" Martha asked in a tentative voice.

  "Yes. It was a picture Hank had taken of her. I found it at the cabin where Dolores and Davey lived. I saved the picture of Dolores for Davey so he'll know what his mother looked like. The nude study on the wall over there is of Dolores, too. I discovered it with some of Hank's things, and I didn't have the heart to throw it away. It's one of Hank's best photographs. She was very beautiful, wasn't she?"

  Martha swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes," she said softly, remembering what she had thought. She was glad to know that Dolores had been nothing to Nick. Just knowing that cleared up a lot of problems.