by Sarita Leone
“Well, I suppose if you’re set on going to the beach, I’ll have to save my surprise for another time.” Clarisse winked over Sienna’s head, then looked dutifully forlorn when the child turned to her.
“We’re not going to the beach,” Annie interjected. Sticking to her guns on this one.
“Hear that? Mama says we’re not going.” A long, shuddering, dramatic sigh. She pulled the last of the red ice into her mouth and chewed. Swallowed. Grinned, showing red teeth and gums. “So what’s your surprise? If we’re not going to the beach, we might as well do something.”
“Oh, it’s a great surprise.” Clarisse finished her treat, bent the Popsicle stick in half, and tightened a fist around it. “Much too good a surprise to be the second runner up, really. I’ll just keep it to myself, I think…”
Annie had to hand it to her. The woman had experience shifting a kid’s perspective. Sienna had all but forgotten about the sand and surf, and was bouncing up and down on the wooden step.
“Aw, come on, tell me? Pretty please?”
“Nah, that’s okay. No biggie.” She pretended to examine a cuticle.
“Aw…pretty please—with a cherry on top?” Sienna grinned, looking more like a vampire with red-rimmed mouth and evidence of the ice pop drying on her chin than the sweet little thing she was working so hard to pull off.
“Well…”
Annie couldn’t resist. “With two cherries on top? And sprinkles?”
Clarisse capitulated, making a big show of giving in. She put her hands up, mock-surrender style. “Well if you both insist, I’ll share my surprise with you.”
Then, she sat without speaking. Tension built. Sienna looked ready to burst from her matching plaid shorts and sleeveless crop top.
“Well? Are you going to tell us or not?” The little one leaned close, putting her face nearly on the woman’s lap.
Clarisse reached out, stroked one of the ponytails that Annie realized she’d not pulled together. Sienna wasn’t proficient enough to put her hair in two tails, her “Grammy” must have done it for her.
It was the first time anyone else had styled her daughter’s hair. A small twinge of something—jealousy, maybe?—pinged in her belly. Then, a wave of gratitude washed it away. It was good the two felt comfortable enough to allow the hair session.
“Hold your horses, child. I’m just savoring the moment, keeping this treasure to myself before I set it free. Can you dig it?” Clarisse’s use of youthful lingo didn’t surprise the child, but Annie had a hard time not grinning broadly. Thankfully, neither of the two paid any attention to her. It was like being a fly on the wall—only outdoors.
“Spill it, already. Please…”
She was glad for the manners practiced without any coaching. Score one for the mom.
“The historical society!” Clarisse rubbed her hands together. Shivered with delight.
Annie prayed Sienna wouldn’t be rude; it was written on her face, in her scowl, actually, what she thought of the so-called surprise.
“The what?”
So far, so good. Incredulity was not rudeness, so she kept silent.
“The historical society, of course. Actually, if we want to be proper about it, The Lobster Cove Historical Association. But I just call it the historical society—not such a huge mouthful.” The explanation was offered as if she were speaking with an adult, and miraculously the child listened in a similar fashion.
Still, a crease on the young forehead spoke loudly.
“What is it? And is it as good as the beach?”
She shot Annie a questioning glance, who shrugged.
“Better. Believe me, I should know. I work there two afternoons a week. Today is one of my days off—now, really, would I want to go someplace on my day off if it wasn’t magical and marvelous? The beach, it’s great, don’t get me wrong. But the sand and water are always going to be there.”
It amazed her, but somehow the kid had perfected the art of the dubious eyebrow raise. It was almost so cute that she—and Clarisse as well, if the look on her face was any indication—almost laughed.
“Probably not. If this hist-hist—”
“Historical,” Annie supplied gently.
“Yeah. I guess you wouldn’t want to go there so much if the place is crappy.” Sienna lifted her hands, held them palms facing the sky, and shrugged. “So it’s gotta be pretty cool.”
Neither commented on the colorful choice of words.
“It is cool—very cool. Lots of exhibits. Tells the history of Lobster Cove. You can see clothes, books, household things on display, learn how people lived here a long time ago. Very interesting, I think. A surprising place.”
They waited, letting it sink in. Annie knew there would be more questions.
“Anything else?” Sienna’s probing mind needed more than old books and dusty bed linens.
“Well…” Clarisse tapped the side of her head with a forefinger. Then she held it up straight, before poking it toward the child. “There’s lots of other stuff. An old boat, some anchors. Plaques, but you wouldn’t be interested in them. An old fire engine. Some early automobiles. The pirate display, with the gold pieces. An ancient—”
“Pirates? You mean there are pirates here?” Sienna perked up. “Really?”
“Whoa, not so fast. I didn’t say there are pirates here now, did I? But there were pirates here at one time. Oh, yes…” She answered the questions before they were asked. Sienna was completely under her spell, and Annie was thoroughly amused. “Lots of pirates. A number of pirate artifacts. Even some pirate ‘booty’—which is slang for pirate loot. Oh, yes, we have had pirates here in the Cove. And shipwrecks—lots of them—just beyond the beach.”
“You mean when the boat crashes in the water?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. It doesn’t happen much anymore, but back in the old days it happened a lot. A shoal, a rocky ridge, runs just beyond the cove’s opening. In rough weather, ships ran aground on the shoal and went down. Men lost their lives out there. Others were better swimmers, and came ashore.”
History had been Annie’s favorite subject in college. A passion she and Brian shared. “When was the last wreck?”
“Oh, about a hundred years ago. As I said, occasionally a fishing boat or some silly tourist—drunk and with zero boating skills—rams the shoal but not often. The big wrecks, in the time before cars and planes made travel a snap…now, we had our share. Especially in the cold months, when things up here in Maine can get rough. There were a few really big wrecks…let me see now, some in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. We have a few finds from those ships. A ship called the Henrietta…now that’s a story in its own right. Interesting, that one. And the Halpern—now, that went down in eighteen-twelve. We’ve got descendants of survivors of that tragedy still living here.”
Sienna hadn’t forgotten the pirates. She turned to Annie with a hopeful smile on her face.
“Mama? Can we go to the-the—you know. Where they keep the pirate stuff—can we go?”
Not the time to correct grammar. Not when the beach was forgotten and the adventure was really an educational opportunity in disguise.
She nodded. “I love the idea. But first, we all need to get cleaned up.”
Chapter 9
Main Street was quintessential New England. Wide sidewalks beckoning one and all to peek inside quaint little shops, not much more than cubbyholes set side by side, each offering wares which were, mostly, made by locals. Enticing aromas, often from good, hearty, no-nonsense fare, wafting out to pull an unsuspecting passerby in for a bite—or two. Foot traffic that neither bumped against nor rushed by casual strollers.
So went the first walking tour of their new home.
They passed the park. Sienna didn’t say a word, but her gaze lingered on the swingset. Another time, they would picnic, beside the white wooden gazebo under the watchful gaze of the nearby monument. A lone sailor, forever looking toward the sea. A testament to the men who
had gone out but had never returned home. Sad, yet well-loved, that sailor.
Clarisse so wanted the girls to like the place. Funny, how even Annie had become a girl in her eyes and heart. She knew she carried a woman’s burdens, but the grandmotherly instinct inside her was still intact. This woman had been her beloved Brian’s wife. And had he lived, he would have seen how wonderful a mother she was to their daughter. Without his presence, there were no others to heap the grandmotherly urges upon; besides, she didn’t think Annie would mind being one of the girls.
Truth be told, in her mind she was one of the girls, too.
“I like the colors,” Sienna said.
For her age, the child was advanced. Last night, they’d read a book together. Granted, Dr. Seuss wasn’t Tolstoy, but the words fell like raindrops from the little girl’s tongue. Her verbal ability was stellar, she proved wildly creative when presented with crayons and paper, and now she was astute enough to note details.
It had been a long time since she’d been in close contact with a child, but this one seemed exceptional—even to her untrained, rusty eye.
“You like that? There’s a story about it, you know. Way back when, a long, long time ago, people weren’t as literate as we are now.” She paused, waiting for a question about what felt like it might be a word that required explanation. No question, so she asked, “Do you know what literate means?”
Sienna shook her head, sending her ponytails up and down.
“Really? You do?”
“Yeah. At our last town there was a library. And they had a protest thing outside—you know, where people walk around carrying signs? About the war and stuff?” She waited until Clarisse nodded. “So this day, you know, when I learned that word, we went to the library. No signs when we went in but when we went out, there were signs everywhere. People, too.”
She looked to Annie, who just nodded her agreement. The story went on.
“So, me and Mama just crossed through the people. Just kind of walked between them, and nobody bothered us…except one guy. Remember, Mama?”
A look passed between the two.
“He wasn’t very nice. He said something mean about people who read too much—what did he say?”
Annie met Clarisse’s gaze. Then she looked at Sienna.
A perfect answer coming from a mother. “He was wrong. But he said people who read too much are under The Man’s thumb. Remember, the guy was just wrong…”
Sienna looked up. Clarisse knew what was coming next.
“Do you know The Man?”
Shook her head. “Not personally, no. but I do know what it means when someone says that.”
It satisfied the little girl.
“Good. So, the guy talking about The Man? Another guy told him to shut up—not very nice—and then someone else called him illiterate. So, when we got home I asked Mama what that means—you know what it means, right?”
Clarisse met the serious stare with a definite nod.
“Good. So that’s how I know. There’s illiterate and literate—I’m literate. You are, too. And Mama—she’s very literate. She’s the one who taught me how to be literate, so she’s really good at it.”
The conversation had taken them nearly to the end of the street. While the child chattered, Annie had browsed the store windows. She lingered at a display of art supplies in Bennigan’s. Clarisse made a mental note to inquire about her artistry skills sometime soon.
“Would you like to hear the end of my story, the one about why the buildings along the street are all painted different colors?”
Sienna slapped the side of her face with a small hand. Her cheek must smart, it was hit so hard.
“I forgot—yes, please, tell me!”
Clarisse sat on a bench at the end of the block. The historical society’s building was just past the intersection. This spot, however, afforded an ideal view of the row of buildings currently under discussion.
“Well, this is a seafaring town. That means there are a lot of families who rely on the sea for their living. More so in olden days than now, but still, boats go out from our shore every day. They fish for lobster. Crab. Some tuna. Anyhow, way back when, a long time ago, before just about everybody knew how to read, people needed a way to tell things were theirs. Including houses.”
Annie and Sienna were an ideal audience. When she stopped, they turned their gazes to the row of buildings they’d just passed.
“Notice anything about those buildings? Besides they’re all different colors?”
Annie gave a slight nudge. “Look closely. The colors make them different, but does anything make them look the same?”
Sienna studied the buildings. The point at which realization hit made her eyes gleam. She turned and said, “The same! The buildings are all the same—see, they have that swirly stuff over the doors?”
“Gingerbread,” Annie supplied.
“And the windows, they all have…”
“Those are called shutters, dear,” Clarisse said. “They can be closed to keep a place protected in bad weather.”
“And the roof on that one—and that one—and that one, too…” She pointed.
Annie’s complexion paled. Clarisse saw sadness in her eyes. She answered the unspoken query. “Those are called widows’ walks, honey.”
The word derailed her. Sienna turned and gave her mother a fast, tight hug. “Oh, Mama…”
“It’s all right, baby. I promise. See? I’m not the only widow in the world.” Annie pulled a smile onto her face before tilting her daughter’s gaze upward. “I’m okay, I promise. And you’ve got the right idea. The buildings are identical.”
Clarisse moved right along. No sense in dawdling over the painful points in life.
“So, you see that the buildings all look the same. Now imagine you’re a sailor, home from a long, long journey, and you walk up from the dock toward these buildings. Your family is here, and you can’t wait to see them. But—” She pointed to the well-preserved plaques beside each doorway. “You can’t read. You’re…”
“Illiterate,” Sienna supplied, a look of understanding bringing a sparkle to her brown eyes.
“That’s right. The only way a sailor might tell one house from another? What do you think?”
“Oh…I get it. They knew by the colors.” Sienna looked from storefront to storefront, taking stock of the assorted colors painted on the modest wooden buildings. “Pretty smart.”
“The ability to read is not a measure of a person’s intelligence, Sienna.” She placed a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder and pulled her close. “Please, remember that.”
They stood and walked to the corner. A crush of tourists waited, snapping Instamatic shots of each other posing by a huge anchor. It had come from a wreck of little importance, but made an otherwise ordinary corner interesting.
Dodging the crowd, they stepped out into the crosswalk.
“You’re going to be pleasantly surprised by all the displays in that humble brick building.”
Annie held her daughter’s hand while they crossed, with Sienna between them. She looked down when she spoke, meeting the child’s gaze.
“What part are you most interested in, honey?”
“The pirates. I want to see the pirates!”
A masculine chuckle caught their attention. They’d reached the other corner—and Steve. He stood, his hands loosely tucked into his pockets, thumbs sticking out. If she’d been a whole lot younger, her hormones would have definitely kicked into overdrive at the sight of the man. But she wasn’t, so they didn’t—for her.
A glance at the other woman showed Steve’s charms were alive and well, and worked just fine on a younger woman.
Pink crept up Annie’s neck. Along her cheekbones. Against her bronzed complexion, the hint of color made her even more attractive.
“Hey.” Steve gave Sienna a small wave. Then he laid his hand in the air, and she palmed him with her free hand.
“Hey,” Sienna said. “We’r
e going to see the pirates. Aren’t we, Mama?”
Annie met Steve’s gaze. They shared a look—unreadable, but meaningful. Something was up between them, and it wasn’t just Steve’s palm or Annie’s color. There was more…
“Ah, well…”
“Pirates, huh?” Steve winked. He directed his comment to Sienna. “I hear you’ve got to look real close if you want to see the pirates…”
“Really?”
“Yeah, real close. Right, Clarisse?”
The man was a charmer. Back in the day…
“No comment. Sienna, we’ll look around at everything—and there’s a lot to see, I promise you. Annie, Steve—we’ll just head on in, if you’ll excuse us. Come on, your mom will catch up.”
“Bye, Mama!” Not even a whimper of remorse as she skipped up the steps to the brick building.
Leaving two adults standing on a street corner looking like a pair of tongue-tied teenagers was one stroke this side of brilliant. The only bad part? Not being around to hear what they said to each other—if they managed to untie their tongues and speak, that is.
Chapter 10
Rehearsing all night what he planned to say when he made the face-to-face with Annie should have primed him for the moment. It didn’t. Looking into the dark brown eyes, flecked with gold and so soft a man could lose himself in them, banished all logic from his brain.
It affected other parts of his anatomy, as well. A minor miracle. Before he met Annie, he hadn’t had any of those urges in longer than he was prepared to admit. Amazing what an engagement called off due to the best man and bride-to-be’s pre-wedding shenanigans could do to a guy. He’d tossed the girl, sold the van that had been rocking when he’d gone knocking, and forced himself to never allow a pretty face—or great ass—to get his engine started.
Until now. Damn, but this woman started him up.
Praise the heavens and all things Jimi Hendrix, she met his gaze—and didn’t look down. Feeling like a schoolboy, sporting a semi in broad daylight? Humiliation times ten.