By The Sea, Book Three: Laura

by Stockenberg, Antoinette

  His laugh was little more than a sneer. "And what the hell do I know about corn and cows?"

  He was right. It wouldn't work. Not unless he could see the possibility of joy in a new adventure.

  She sighed and gave him an entreating look. "Oh, Sam. Can't you try to be happy? Just for once … try? How long do you mean to punish me?"

  He hated to be told to try to be happy. Slamming his fist on the supper table, he said, "I don't need to listen to this!" and grabbed his jacket and cap, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

  Neil, who had been quietly scooping up the last of the gravy in his bowl with the last of the bread on his plate, winced and said to his mother, "Why is Dad always like that, Mom? Are we out of money again?"

  "What a thing to think! Of course not. If we were out of money, do you suppose you'd have a brand-new bicycle out back? And an allowance every week? Really! The things you come up with, Neil."

  "I was just wondering," he said. "Because something's not right lately." He pushed his chair from the table a little more dramatically than he needed to and went off to play with his dog, a friendly, lively mutt that they'd adopted from the shelter on nearby Harrington Street.

  Her son was too perceptive by half, Laura realized. Sam did seem to have reached a tipping point. He wanted to be on the water, but on his own terms, and that could not be arranged just yet. After they had saved some more … but by then he might well be too old, too bitter, too tied to the bottle to pick up his dream.

  He was drinking more than ever. Laura had never felt comfortable with his habit, but at least when he was younger he was able to manage both work and play without it affecting him. Nowadays it wasn't uncommon for him to stop after work at one of the many rough taverns that dotted the downtown streets between Long Wharf and their little house off Wellington and arrive home late and bleary-eyed, and hardly able to hold a conversation.

  His drinking made their few encounters in the bedroom even more fraught with tension. It came down to this: lately Sam could not, and Laura would not, make the effort necessary to have truly satisfying sex. Laura did try, for a while, but it was hard for her to feign enthusiasm for someone who reeked of alcohol, had forgotten how to be tender, and blamed her for his inadequacy. "Yer not doin' it right!" was a favorite scold of his. So eventually she gave up trying to do it at all.

  Laura had no doubt, as she cleaned up the dishes from their supper stew, that Sam would come home "drunk as a skunk" as he liked to brag, and try to bait her in some way. He knew she had papers to correct and lesson plans to lay out, and that would provide him with one of his favorite targets: her job as a teacher. She had learned very quickly not to talk about her love for the children she taught, and especially the love those children had for learning; it was like waving a flag in front of a bull.

  So she wiped down the table and began hurrying through her work while Neil sat opposite, working on the math lessons which had become surprisingly enjoyable for him to do. (So enjoyable, that he had already declared his intention of becoming a scientist like Albert Einstein.)

  When Sam didn't return by the time Laura turned out the lights at ten, she wasn't surprised; the bars didn't close until after midnight. But midnight came and went, and it wasn't until three in the morning that a knock came on her door, and with it, the news that Sam had got into a fight with some sailors at the Blue Moon, a favorite haunt for navy enlisted. The sailors, and Sam, had all been tossed from the bar and had resumed their fight on the street, where Sam had had the bad luck of falling off the curb into the path of a truck that was backing up. He died instantly, the officer at the door seemed truly sorry to say.

  After he left, Laura sat shocked and alone at the kitchen table, waiting for daylight to tell Neil the awful news and then begin the process of burying the man who, if he had had the choice, would have preferred to go down with his ship at sea.

  It was over: Sam's life, and her marriage of a decade with him. Her sense of guilt and sorrow was profound. If she hadn't taken the Virginia offshore … if she had simply followed the plan to sail along the coast, who knows? Maybe they would have avoided the fatal storm altogether. That one, anyway. She might have delivered her cargo, been handsomely paid, and returned triumphant with Sam's schooner to Newport.

  But would she have returned at all? With or without wrecking the boat, Laura would have fallen in love with Colin. Could she have given Sam his boat and then taken away his son? It was a hypothetical question for which she had only hypothetical answers.

  One of them was yes.

  But instead the Virginia was wrecked, and Sam was dead, and Colin was gone. Waves of unbearable sadness washed over her, but the house was small and Neil's room was close; she must not cry. She took a deep breath, then folded her arms across the table and laid her forehead on them, and thought of what had been, and what might have been.

  And then she did cry, but softly, so that she wouldn't wake her son.

  Chapter 16

  Christmas Eve, 1937

  The storm arrived as forecast, with a few big, pretty flakes at dusk. Within an hour the ground was covered and the snow was piling up fast, driven by a wind that struck fear in the heart of fishermen still out on the water, but which had a certain undeniable charm for landlubbers, coming as it was on Christmas Eve.

  In another hour, the snow was knee deep. Neil was thrilled. Holding aside the lace curtain in the front-room window, he wiped the steam from the pane until it squeaked. "Mom, look how it's coming down! Oh, man, the sledding's gonna be so good at the park. And no school for a week! Could it get any better?"

  Smiling, Laura carried a box of paper and ribbons into the kitchen, where she began wrapping a gift for her co-worker, an older widow and school colleague who had become a close friend. Irene had invited Laura and Neil to join her and her grown children for Christmas dinner the next day, testimony to how comfortable the two women were with one another. Laura and Irene had this in common: they had lost their husbands in the same month and then had helped one another through the grieving process. It would be fair to say that Laura was farther along that path, because Irene had been married more than twice as long as Laura and had clearly adored her Edward.

  To cheer her friend up on this most emotional of holidays, Laura had shopped with extra effort and had found a pretty little porcelain Hummel figurine of a little girl with needles and yarn and called "The Knitter." Irene was both a knitter and a collector of figurines; it seemed like a perfect fit. Apparently there were different Hummels scheduled to be produced by the German manufacturer. Hopefully Irene would find some joy in collecting them.

  "Mom! We can go sledding tomorrow, right? Before we have to go to dinner? Because I really can't stand to waste a single day of this."

  "As long as you know you'll be on your old sled," Laura called out— because that was the drumbeat she'd had to listen to, ever since the first snowflake fell: sled, new, sled, new, sled, new. "I do not think Santa will be bringing you a new one."

  Neil snorted. "Oh, him. Santa. Don't worry, I'm not counting on Santa."

  Neil had never counted on Santa. How could he, living aboard a boat with no chimney? The concept of Santa Claus had become a kind of easy-going joke between them, but Santa was yet another item that Laura tallied in the "con" column of raising a child aboard a boat.

  "But you know, I wonder what Santa's elves could be bringing me," Neil said in a loudly musing way. His voice was filled with anticipation, the sound of a perfectly normal, happy eleven-year-old on Christmas Eve.

  Laura felt bound to say, "Not a sled, I think I can guarantee."

  She sighed. This year Neil's big gift was a pair of hockey skates; he'd outgrown his old ones after only a season of use. The wrapped box of skates was in the back of Laura's closet. She had no doubt that Neil had discovered and shaken it. So why was he so adamant about a sled?

  "Really, Mom?"

  "Really, Neil," she said, poking her head around the corner to impress him with her sinc
erity.

  He swung around from the window to face her, sending the ornaments on the tree tinkling wildly, and said, "You know I'm too long for that sled now, right?"

  "Well, you've grown a mile, that's for sure. But I think if you squeeze, you can just about fit," she said ironically.

  A long, melodramatic sigh. "Maybe I can add some boards."

  "Neil. The sled is fine. How does a cup of hot cocoa sound, right about now?"

  "You're always changing the subject, Mom," he said, rolling his eyes. He added, "Okay. I'll have some."

  "Good."

  Friends again. Neil's birthday was in January, and sleds would go on sale right after Christmas. It had been Laura's plan all along to get him a sled; she just hadn't counted on a Christmas Nor'easter. The ice until now had been perfect—smooth and thick. Skates were the logical gift.

  While Laura heated the milk, Neil tiptoed back and forth behind her with what she knew were his presents for her. They would be easy enough for him to hide behind the mound of gifts she had received from her students. Those little gift-wrapped tokens of their affection were one reason that Laura always tried to find a slew of small treats to wrap and stack in a matching mound for her son. There were only the two of them, with no family in town, and at times like these Laura wished they lived in Minnesota. Fortunately, Neil's cousins would be out for a long visit come summer, when Newport was at its best.

  But still. It was Christmas Eve, and there were only the two of them.

  As she poured the cocoa, Laura heard squeaks across the window pane again. "Mind the tree," she called to her son. "Glass ornaments don't grow—well, on trees," she said, smiling at the aptness of the phrase.

  "Holy cow, Mom. You should see it come down now. It's a white-out!"

  She was walking out with a heavy mug in each hand when someone began pounding loudly on the door, drowning out the Christmas carols playing softly on the radio in the parlor. Dusty, a terrible guard dog if ever there was one, got up from his bed and trotted over to the door, tail wagging.

  "Must be Santa," Laura quipped. "Can you get the door for me, honey?"

  Neil swung it open and was confronted with a six-foot-tall toboggan. Standing next to it, and covered from wool cap to sea boots in heavy snow, was the man Laura had last seen stripped nearly bare on a tropical island.

  "Hello, mate. Merry Christmas," he said to Neil, and then his look went over to Laura, standing transfixed, a mug of cocoa still in each hand. "Is the lady of the house—? Yes," he said softly, "I see she is. Hello, Laura."

  Neil was first to respond. "Colin? Colin! Oh, wow. Where did you come from? Colin, is it really you?" Immediately he pointed to the toboggan. "Is that how you got here?"

  Colin laughed and said with a wink, "You bet. My reindeer are tied alongside the house."

  Again his look went to Laura. "Have I come at a bad time?"

  She blinked, and her eyes glazed over, blurring the image before her. He was as tall and fit as ever, and she saw that under the wind-burned cheeks and stubble of beard, his skin still showed the effects of sun. At sea, then. He had been at sea. Away from telephones and mailboxes and telegraph offices. Away, obviously, from airports, bus stops and train stations. And now here he was in Newport, standing snow-covered in her doorway, after being away from her for more than three years. It seemed like thirty years, it seemed like three days. She didn't know what it seemed like.

  "It's definitely a good time!" Neil volunteered when his mother didn't say anything. "I bet you could use some hot cocoa. Mom?"

  A blast of wind reminded Laura that Colin was still out in the cold. Snapping out of her reverie, she said, "I'm sorry. Please come in."

  As Colin laid the toboggan against the side of the house, she set the mugs down with shaking hands on the coffee table, sending cocoa splashing over the lip of one of them. Colin took off his pea coat where he stood and shook it clear, and then his hat, and stomped his boots before stepping over the threshold. It was all so very normal, all so very extraordinary. Colin, in her house.

  Laura saw at once that he had no sea bag. "Are you staying in town?" she asked as she took his wet jacket and hat and hung them on pegs next to the door.

  "At the Step Inn on lower Thames."

  "Around the corner from here," she said, praying that it was no coincidence.

  "Yes, thank God. It's slow going out there. Not a car on the road. Nor a plow, for that matter."

  "I don't think they expected this much snow … and it is Christmas Eve." She beckoned him to take a seat on the sofa, but he chose instead the Stickley armchair with its leather seat because of his damp clothing.

  Laura wished, not for the first time, that they had a charming fireplace, but their cozy little cottage was more basic than that. Turning up the kerosene heater at the other end of the room, she said, "How did you find me—us?"

  "I have to confess, I didn't think I'd find you here, in a house," he said, taking up the mug that Neil had urged on him. He didn't drink from it, but cupped it between his hands to warm himself.

  And Laura was thinking, I know those hands, what they can do.

  "I figured you'd be in a boat, some boat, working the coast. And, given the season, somewhere south of forty-one north. Carolinas, maybe. I more or less worked my way up the eastern seaboard, asking all the right questions but getting no answers."

  And Laura was thinking, He isn't wearing a ring.

  "I made it as far as New London before I got my answer," he told her, smiling.

  "Oh! Amanda! Of course. You talked to Amanda Seton," Laura realized. "She and I keep in touch."

  His look softened into something more serious. "Amanda told me about Sam. I … ah … I'm sorry, Laura. I know how hard—"

  "Thank you," she said, glancing at Neil. "In a way, it wasn't unexpected." Neil looked confused by the remark; she dared say no more. "Amanda was here just a couple of months ago," she added, moving on. "With Geoff. We had lunch. They were in Newport on business, though she didn't say what. It was all very tentative at the time."

  Colin took a sip of cocoa, then winked at Neil. "Not any more. They've bought themselves a shipyard here. As of a week ago."

  "Really! That's great! Which one?"

  "Easton's Boatworks. It's been for sale for a while, on and off. The Setons got a great deal. They like the fact that there's a big navy presence in Newport; they have experience with the navy. I think it'll work out well for them."

  "It will if they have someone as competent as Amanda managing the place." Laura had absolute confidence in Amanda's skills; she was born to boss.

  "Well, that's the thing. According to Geoff, there's only one Amanda. Which meant they had to find someone else to run the Newport yard. Which means—"

  Neil brightened. "I know what it means! It means you're going to be running the yard and live in Newport from now on!"

  "Neil! Stop embarrassing Colin with your wild—"

  "Yep. That's what it means," said Colin, watching Laura's reaction over the rim of his mug.

  Laura's reaction was that all the stars and snowflakes in the sky, mixed with a goodly amount of fairy dust, were showering down over them. "Is it true?" she asked, reluctant to believe him in case she had misunderstood.

  "I start work the first of the year."

  "You'll be here for my birthday, then!" said Neil, always working the angles.

  "Ah! Speaking of which, I did remember that you were born on the sixth, mate. And although it's not exactly wrapped, you'll find a little bow on the back of the toboggan. Merry Christmas, and happy birthday a little bit early."

  Neil was briefly speechless. Sucking in his breath, eyes wide, he looked from Colin to his mother and back to Colin again. Smiling, Laura shrugged and said, "What do you say?"

  "Thanks, Colin! Gee, thanks!" Turning to his mother, he said, "Can I try it in the yard? Just to see if it fits?"

  The toboggan was six feet long; it would certainly fit. Neil pulled on a jacket, then a thick hat
and gloves, all knit by Irene, and rushed out the door. In five seconds he was back in again. "Mom! It's a Saratoga! They're the best of the best! Wait until everyone sees it, I can't believe it, it's just such a swell—thanks, Colin! I can't believe it."

  Back out he went, to try on his new toy.

  "There goes the happiest kid in Newport," Laura said, warmed by his glee. "Did you drag that thing behind you all the way up the coast?"

  Up the coast, looking for them. For her. She could see it in his eyes.

  He laughed at the idea of it and said, "Actually, I got it from a shop on Thames. I was slogging past in the snow, saw it, and, well, hey. It had Neil's name all over it."

  Laura had no idea what he was actually saying; she was simply absorbing his presence. Colin, in her house. It was like Colin on her boat, only so much better. Blame it on the stars and snowflakes and fairy dust still wafting around the room.

  "It's good to see you again, Colin," she said softly. Overcome with emotion, she stood up and went to the window and looked out at the falling snow, just to have something to do.

  "Good? Only good? Laura."

  The way he said her name: they were on the beach again, and she was walking away from him without looking back, shaking her head.

  This time, she turned around to him. "It's incredibly wonderful to see you again, Colin."

  He was three strides away. "And so the answer is—?"

  "Yes," she said, her voice catching. "The answer is yes."

  In his rush to have her in his arms, he set the tree ornaments tinkling merrily against one another again, in a sweet little ditty of pure hope and joy.

  More for your eReader by Antoinette

  Coming in October, 2013:

  BY THE SEA, Book Four: THE HEIRS

  "A quality novel [that] contains many of those little epiphanies, those moments of recognition."

  —Providence Journal