Harbor of the Heart

by Katherine Spencer

  She smiled to herself, facing the road again. She did find the small gesture encouraging.

  Chapter Seven

  DANIEL needed to study for a practice exam that was going to be given on Tuesday, and decided he couldn’t return to the island for the weekend. Liza tried hard not to sound disappointed when he told her on Friday afternoon. After all, he needed to focus on his studies and not worry about her, too. And it was nearly the third week of July, smack in the middle of her busy season, and she had an inn full of guests to take care of, didn’t she? It wasn’t as if they got to see each other all that much on weekends, anyway.

  But she did miss him and did look forward to their phone calls—which were small consolation at times like this, when Daniel had to fit them in during study breaks, and sounded so tired and distracted.

  Liza tried not to worry about it. A situation like this was bound to put some strain on a relationship, even a strong relationship. She didn’t really worry about him getting interested in other women while he was away. Though she did like to tease him about it. And she was sure all the women in his classes had noticed him. What woman wouldn’t? she wondered.

  It was mainly that she missed him. It made her feel sad and tired and even short-tempered at times. It made her work at the inn seem so lackluster and routine, wishing the days would pass quickly until Daniel was back on the island again.

  She missed his unpredictable visits and moving through the day with a feeling of expectation, knowing that any moment, his truck might come rolling down the drive and she would see his brilliant smile and slip off to spend a few stolen moments with him.

  This separation phase wouldn’t last long, she kept reminding herself. It just felt that way. She wasn’t sure if he was counting the days until his exams. But she certainly was.

  On Tuesday night, Daniel sounded a bit more relaxed during their evening phone call. His test was over and he was able to talk a little longer than usual.

  “Hey, do you know what Friday is?” she asked him.

  “Give me a minute. I can get this . . . Friday is the day I get sprung from this study dungeon and spend the weekend with you?”

  “Well, that, too. But that’s not what I was thinking of exactly.”

  He thought a moment. “I know it’s not your birthday.”

  “Right, that’s in October.” She heard the worried tone in his voice and thought it very cute. She was sitting outside on a wicker love seat, her legs curled beneath her.

  “It’s not our anniversary,” he said, more definitively. “Do we even have an anniversary?”

  Liza laughed. “Sometimes we celebrate our first date. But that’s really hard to calculate,” she admitted. They had spent a lot of time together as friends before their first “official” date.

  Daniel had once found her on her bike, riding in the rain, and brought her to Daisy Winkler’s teahouse in the island’s village center. They had spent a few romantic hours in the dim little cottage, sipping tea and eating cakes with the rain pattering on the roof and windows and no one in the entire world knowing where to find them. It was one of Liza’s favorite memories.

  But their first official and bona fide date had to be the night Daniel made dinner for her and served it out behind his cottage, overlooking the sea and a sky full of stars and a brilliant full moon. That had been one of the most romantic nights of her life. “Okay, I give up. What are we celebrating?”

  “You’ll be halfway through your review courses,” she reminded him. “July twenty-sixth, to be exact.”

  “I get it. Right. Three weeks down, three to go.”

  “It went by fast, don’t you think?” It hadn’t really gone all that fast for her, but she was trying to stay positive.

  “Fast for you, maybe. Torturously slow for me . . . Maybe because I miss you so much.”

  “I miss you, too,” she said quietly. “Very much. But when you get back, we’ll do something fun. We’ll celebrate. I think there are some meteor showers passing this weekend. Maybe we can go down to the beach and watch them.”

  “Great idea. I’d love to have a midnight picnic on the beach with you.”

  Liza liked that idea, too. More than she wanted to say.

  “Hey, I have some news,” he said, suddenly changing the subject. “I was roaming around the web last night, trying to track down some former colleagues. Wow, some of those guys have done pretty well for themselves. I was impressed . . . well, intimidated, actually,” he admitted. He was laughing, so he wasn’t that intimidated, Liza thought. Why were men so competitive? It had to be a genetic thing; survival of the fittest and all that.

  “Did you find anyone who might help you?” Liza knew that Daniel had been looking for former colleagues who might recommend him for a job opening.

  “I did find someone. Someone I knew very well, who was a big influence on me. Jim Mitchell, another ER doc, was a bit older than me and helped me when I was a resident. And later, when I decided to leave medicine,” Daniel added in a more serious voice. “I don’t remember how we fell out of touch. He’s out in Arizona now, working on a reservation.”

  “Really? How interesting. Did you send him an e-mail or something?”

  “I did, and he answered right away. He’s coming to Boston for a conference in August and we made plans to get together.”

  It was good to hear Daniel sounding so excited and happy. All this studying and homework was monotonous and wearing on him. At least he had something to look forward to.

  “Where will he be staying? In Boston?”

  “Yes, the conference is at a hotel in the city and runs for three days. But he and his wife want to drive around New England for a week or so after that, for a little vacation.”

  “Really? Why don’t you ask them if they want to come here? I’d be happy to have them stay over, as my guests, of course,” she added.

  “Liza, that’s so sweet, but you don’t have to do that. I bet you’re booked solid.”

  “Let me see. I’ll just check right now. What’s the date, do you know?” Her laptop was handy, and she flipped to the reservations list.

  “I’m not sure. I have to check on it. It’s after my exams, that’s all I can remember.”

  “That’s a good thing. You’ll be able to relax and have a good visit with him. If Dr. Mitchell was that great an influence on you, I’d really like to meet him.”

  “All right. I’ll send him a note tonight and let you know what he says. It could be great visiting with him at the inn. We could have a lot of time together to talk. I bet he has some good advice for me. He always did.”

  They said good night a short time later, trading fake kisses over the phone. It was sweet, but . . . no substitute for the real thing, Liza thought as she ended the call. Three short weeks and this would be over. And Daniel would have to take his certification exams.

  One question would be answered, and many others would take its place.

  * * *

  LIZA wanted to surprise Daniel with a special dinner on Friday—lobster, his favorite. Claire didn’t mind. A lobster dinner with chowder and steamers to start, corn, coleslaw, hot rolls, and blueberry pie à la mode for dessert—was one of the easiest in the world to cook, even for a houseful of guests, as well. And that is what they would be dealing with this weekend.

  On Wednesday morning, Claire looked over the menus for the weekend, then searched for the lobster crackers. She climbed up on a stepladder so she could check the top shelf in the pantry. They would need at least fifteen. She hoped those essential tools were not misplaced, or she would have to send Nolan to town to buy more.

  Nolan found her just as she started to climb down from the stepladder. He offered his hand, and she finished her descent like a lady disembarking from a coach-and-four. “Thank you,” she said with a smile.

  “My pleasure. What were you looking for up there?”
>
  “Lobster crackers, the extra sets. You might need to buy some in town.” She noticed he had set a stack of envelopes and a small cardboard box on the kitchen table. “You can leave Liza’s mail in her office today. I don’t think she’ll have time to look at it.”

  Ever since Nolan had sent off his letter, he had taken over the job of bringing in the mail. Claire couldn’t blame him. There were few things worse than waiting for a letter; she knew that from her own experience.

  Nolan handed the small cardboard box to her. “This one is for you.”

  Claire was not expecting a package. She sometimes bought items by mail order. Shopping was so limited in Cape Light, and pretty much nonexistent on the island. But she hadn’t ordered anything in a long time.

  “Let’s see.” She checked the return address as she pulled off a piece of tape. “It’s from Jamie. He said he was sending me something,” she recollected. Her birthday was in early June, but Jamie was not that good with dates. The important thing was that he remembered and took the trouble to send her a gift.

  They were in the kitchen. Nolan was drinking a glass of water. He left the glass in the sink and headed back out to the garden. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your surprise,” he said. “I have some weeding to do.”

  Claire looked up, the package half open. “You haven’t invented some little robot yet to do that for you?”

  “Not yet . . . but that’s not a bad idea,” he replied, rubbing his chin.

  Claire laughed, imagining the sight. Then she pulled back the last bit of tape and took out the gift. It felt heavy and was wrapped in sheets of newspaper. When she uncovered it she found a mug, a very lovely handmade piece decorated with dark blue glaze and a yellow sunflower on a gray background.

  Claire already knew it was a special type of stoneware pottery, one she collected. A tag hanging from the handle confirmed that the salt-glaze and cobalt-blue color were unique to New England. Jamie had remembered her collection, and she was touched by the way he had tried to please her.

  There was a card inside, a birthday card with birds and a happy saying. Jamie had written a short note:

  When I saw this cup I thought of you and your garden. Hope you like it and hope you had a great birthday.

  Love, Jamie

  How sweet, Claire thought. She was eager to call him. She loved the mug. Jamie really knew her taste. He had given her a necklace last year made of sea glass—a piece he found on the beach—and she rarely took it off.

  Claire set the mug on a shelf right above the sink, where she could see it all the time. Then she gathered up the sheets of newspaper. She was just about to throw them out when a headline and photo caught her eye.

  LOCAL COLLEGE PROFESSOR MISSING—DAUGHTER OFFERS REWARD

  She peered down at the smeared newsprint and blurry photo, then grabbed for her reading glasses on the table. She quickly read the article, though a piece had been torn off.

  Nolan Porter, former professor of engineering at Carlisle University and a professional inventor, has been missing for nearly a month. Porter was last seen embarking on an extended sailing trip begun on May 23.

  His daughter, Fiona Porter, age 25, contacted police last week, after efforts to contact him by cell phone and ship-to-shore radio failed, causing her to believe he’s met with hazardous circumstances. Police are currently working to retrace Porter’s path on the coastal waters. His last radio contact was sent from a point about five miles offshore of Rockport, at the tip of the Cape Ann peninsula.

  His daughter is offering a reward for any information leading to his return. “My father is an excellent sailor. I’m afraid something has happened to him at sea. I hope that he’s been rescued and is recuperating somewhere. I welcome any information that can help me find him.”

  Fiona Porter’s phone number and e-mail address appeared below the article. Her picture was there too, holding up a photograph of what appeared to be the Ariadne.

  There was a picture of Nolan, too, taken on the deck of his boat, the mainsail billowing out behind him, the wind lifting his hair. It could only be Nolan; Edison stood pressed against his leg.

  His daughter? Nolan had said he didn’t have any children. Claire recalled that very clearly. The poor young woman looked beside herself with worry. She seemed to have faith that her father was alive and hadn’t drowned at sea. At least it seemed so from her quote. But she must have her doubts and plenty of worries.

  Claire thought back, and realized that Nolan’s boat went down several weeks ago. Almost a month to the day, she noticed, glancing at the calendar.

  She took the scrap of newspaper and headed outside, not even bothering to remove her apron or the glasses hanging around her neck.

  Nolan was on his hands and knees, weeding the garden. He looked up as she marched toward him. Then he stood up and rubbed some dirt from his gloves. She often brought him a cold drink around this time of day, and she guessed he would be surprised to see she was empty-handed—except for the piece of old newsprint.

  “Something wrong?” He ducked his head, his thick brows knitted together.

  Claire was so flustered she could hardly speak. “Your picture was in the Portland Times. I thought you would want to see it.”

  Nolan took the piece of newspaper and read it quickly, his eyes widening with surprise and then growing a little glassy. He looked back up at Claire, his expression unreadable. “Where did you find this?”

  “That box you gave me. There was a gift inside from a friend who lives in Portland. He wrapped it in old newspapers. I just happened to notice your photo. And your daughter’s,” she added, not meaning to be sarcastic. “Why did you tell me that you don’t have any children, Nolan?”

  Nolan drew in a sharp breath. He stared down at the ground and shook his head. “Oh . . . I don’t know. It seemed simpler that way. Under the circumstances.”

  He was embarrassed, she realized. But at least he didn’t deny that he had lied to her.

  “What circumstances? What do you mean by that?”

  “Fiona and I haven’t been in touch for a long time. I didn’t think she would want to hear from me.”

  “Even after nearly drowning and wrecking your boat?”

  “Especially after that.” He sighed and looked up at her again. “She was sympathetic when my invention was stolen and I lost my business and the house and all that. But after a while—when I could no longer get along with her mother—she lost patience with me. I could see she thought I was a failure and an old windbag . . . and the cause of all my own problems. Harsh words were said, very harsh words.” He looked away again as a pained expression crossed his face. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for the way she spoke to me. And I don’t think she can ever forgive me.”

  “But she must have forgiven you . . . or at least is willing to put the past aside. She’s been looking for you, Nolan. She has the police involved. The Coast Guard may be involved, too,” Claire realized. “We called them the day you were rescued, when we saw your boat floundering.”

  “Did you give them my name and the name of my boat?” he asked quickly.

  “I couldn’t on the first call. We had no idea who you were. Daniel was the one who followed up. I’m not sure what information he gave them, aside from the fact that you had survived.” Claire paused and gazed at him. “The point is, your daughter is very worried about you, Nolan. She’s doing everything she can to find out if you’re even alive. Never mind what she said in the heat of an argument—don’t her actions now count for something?”

  Nolan sighed and looked at the clipping she held in her hand, but he didn’t ask to see it again.

  “I have to think about this,” he said at last. “Part of me knows what you’re saying is true. But in that argument we had . . . Fiona told me she never wanted to see me again, and that she was ashamed of me. If she feels guilty now and has regrets . . . well,
maybe that’s what she deserves.”

  “Maybe,” Claire said carefully, “but we all have our faults, and we all hurt each other from time to time. It’s not our place to judge, Nolan. It’s not our place to punish. She’s young. She has a lot to learn,” she reminded him.

  “Do you have any children, Claire? I don’t think I ever asked you.” She knew what he was trying to say. If she wasn’t a parent, how could she know what he was going through?

  “No, I never had children of my own. But I am blessed with a young man I think of as a son. I couldn’t love him more if he were my own child. That’s Jamie, in Portland, who sent the package,” she explained. “He’s in his early twenties now, but I met him when he was just a boy, at a settlement house in Boston. We grew very close, and I wanted to foster or adopt him. But I had to come back to the island to take care of my father, and we fell out of touch. I tried to find him a few times. But finally, last year, he found me.” Claire paused, wondering if she was going on too long. But Nolan was listening attentively. “He was in trouble, of course. He stayed here for the summer, and we had our differences. I nearly gave up on him. I wanted to help him so badly, but he had to help himself. He left here after a terrible argument. But somehow, he found a good path for himself up in Portland and is making a good life. We patched up our differences and we’re still very close. I’m just about his only family, and he’s just about all of mine.”

  “I’m glad it worked out for you,” Nolan said. “But Fiona and I . . . I don’t think we’ll ever patch up our differences.”

  “Do you love her, Nolan?” Claire persisted.

  His head sagged a bit, and his lower lip trembled. “Of course I do. She’s my only child,” he said huskily.

  “Then that’s all that matters. The rest is just . . . static on the line,” she insisted. “It wasn’t easy to forgive Jamie for our argument and the trouble he’d caused here,” she confessed. “But I managed to get there. I had to remember that God forgave Jamie. So I had to forgive him, too. It was just easier that way. You’re all for efficiency, Nolan, aren’t you? Think how much time and energy you’ll save by letting go of this heavy baggage.”