A Dolphin's Gift

by Watters, Patricia

  ***

  The following afternoon, Will joined Nellie in the galley to help her sand the table and the benches that made up an dinette booth, as well as the locker doors, which he'd taken off their hinges and laid on the floor. He had engine work to do, but it didn't seem right to hand Nellie the sandpaper and leave without helping her get started. She looked tired. Although Mike spent the better part of the day under her supervision while scraping the peeling paint on the outside of the cabin, the kid's efforts had not been without almost constant whining and complaining.

  Will marveled at Nellie's patience with the boy. But watching her also reinforced his feelings of doubt about himself where children were concerned, which strengthened his resolve to avoid parenthood—an irrevocable decision he'd made some time back that would guarantee the end of his blood line. But avoiding parenthood also meant avoiding marriage, the two inextricably entwined. He had to admit though, he liked being with Nellie. But he was also becoming aware of a growing urge to touch her, to take her in his arms and kiss her...

  Finding himself staring, he shifted his focus to the porthole. On the dock, Mike sat brushing Katy. A short distance away, stashed behind a box of old rags, was a seedy-looking teddy bear, the same tattered, one-eared stuffed animal Will noticed Mike with on other occasions, always hidden from view. At ten, the kid should be beyond teddy bears. Returning his gaze to Nellie, he said, "Isn't Mike a little old to carry a teddy bear around?"

  Nellie looked up from her sanding. "His doctor says it helps him overcome anxiety."

  Will tried to relate to that, but found he couldn't. As a child he'd never had crutches like blankets or stuffed animals. Actually, he'd never had many toys at all. His had been a sterile childhood, physically and emotionally. But he'd survived, and he felt stronger for it. It taught him to be independent. He didn't need anything or anybody to help him over life's hurdles.

  He glanced at the ragged bear. "Wouldn't it be better to fix the problem?"

  Nellie stopped sanding and looked at him. "That's what we are trying to do, fix the problem. Didn't you have a stuffed animal when you were little?"

  Will shrugged. "No."

  "Then you must have had a secure childhood," Nellie said. "Some kids aren't so fortunate."

  Will said nothing. He remembered having a small ragged pillow once, but it was left at one of the foster homes. After that, he seemed better able to cope.

  Nellie started sanding again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you," she said, when he'd offered nothing more. "You can't be expected to understand my son. But I'm doing the best I can, with Dr. Emery's help."

  Will was beginning to think the faceless Dr. Emery was running Nellie's life. But he'd had his fill of psychologists, social workers, and the periodic obligatory psychiatrist. As a child, every time he'd been removed from his home he'd been subjected to a barrage of counselors who attempted to tell him how he should feel. But none ever told him when he left a foster home, that he should feel betrayed by those who assured him of their love, then let him be taken away with little more than a handshake...

  "Dr. Emery says Mike's teddy bear represents me," Nellie said, returning Will's attention to Mike and the bear. "It reassures Mike that I'll always be there. Mike's afraid of losing another parent. Dr. Emery also says Mike's using the bear as a transitional object to help him cope with the loss of his father while learning to become an independent person."

  Will tried to absorb all the psychological jargon. A transitional object? A means of learning independence? The fact was, one gained strength and learned independence by letting go. "It seems to me he's using the bear as a crutch instead of facing things."

  Nellie pursed her lips. "I've paid good money for the advice Dr. Emery has given me and now you, who obviously knows little about kids, presume to have the answers. So what do you suggest, Mr. Psychologist?" she clipped.

  "That he's too damned dependent on that bear. That he should learn to function without it," Will snapped, then wondered why what Mike Reid did with a stuffed bear should bother him.

  "Learn to function? You make him sound backward," Nellie snapped.

  "I didn't mean to imply that," Will said. "He's definitely not backward. He's very smart." Too smart to be hanging onto a damned stuffed animal. But it was best to drop the issue. He glanced around at the lockers, which were almost ready to varnish, and commented, "You're doing a good job sanding."

  Nellie started moving the sandpaper back and forth again. "Richard and I spent countless hours sanding old cabinets," she said, "but after we finished remodeling the house we'd bought, I swore I'd never pick up another piece of sandpaper again."

  Feeling the tension of moments before ebbing, Will asked, "How long were you married?" He wasn't meaning to pry, only trying to piece together the background of a woman whose life seemed somehow destined to weave a path through his own solitary existence.

  "Thirteen years," Nellie replied. "We were married as soon as Richard finished college. He didn't want to wait any longer, and neither did I. I'd always thought our marriage close to ideal. It was so different then, security without financial worries, a loving husband to make my life whole, the comfort of a nice home, a healthy son."

  Will caught the doleful look in Nellie's eyes. "Life can deal some pretty low blows at times," he commented.

  Nellie nodded. "My problem is trying to adjust to this new feeling of being needed only as a mother. I really enjoyed being married." She slanted Will a sideways glance. "I get the impression you've never been... married, that is."

  "You're right," Will replied.

  "Any particular reason why not?"

  Will shrugged. "I'm too much of a loner."

  Nellie stopped sanding and looked at him, and for a moment, Will expected her to push for an answer. He was relieved when she said, "Any family? Mother, father, siblings?"

  "Just a sister," Will replied. "My mother died a few years back."

  "And your father?" Nellie asked.

  Will felt his chest constrict. "He's also… dead." Uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, he said, "What kind of work were you doing when you were... uh—"

  "Fired?" Nellie smiled. "It's okay. I'm resigned to it now. I was an accountant for an advertising firm. And technically I wasn't fired. My boss terminated my job, which allowed me to collect unemployment. The job wasn't a career though, just a necessity after Richard died. My plan is to save for a computer and start a private accounting business in my home, or my boat—small businesses, taxes, things like that."

  Will thought about the unexpected turn in Nellie's life, the tremendous responsibility she carried. But he sensed that like him, she was a survivor. But unlike him, she wasn't a loner.

  Nellie's hand holding the sandpaper stilled, and she looked at him. "What brought you to Port Townsend?" she asked.

  "The Marine Science Institute," Will replied.

  "How come you own a boathouse when you don't own a boat?" Nellie asked.

  "Your uncle made me an offer I couldn't refuse," Will replied. "And it's a place to live until I do get my own boat, which I will in the near future. In fact, I'd be interested in buying the Isadora if you ever decide to sell."

  Nellie started sanding again. "Don't hold your breath," she said. "So, where is your sister?"

  "Kelsey's in New York making it big as a model." Will smiled fondly at the vision of his gangly younger sister strutting her stuff. "I'm real proud of her."

  "She must be thin," Nellie speculated.

  "She's that all right. Like a willow branch," Will replied. When he saw Nellie place her palm on her tummy, which was rounded in a nice way, he added, "She's obviously not trying to attract a man since most men like a little more substance on a woman."

  "And you?" Nellie looked at him.

  A loaded question, Will realized, and wished he could dodge it. But Nellie was staring at him, waiting for a response. Giving a little shrug, he said, "I guess I'm one of those males who like a little
substance on a woman." He smiled. "I'd say you're padded in all the right places."

  Nellie started sanding in quick, agitated strokes. "It's called Rubenesque," she said.

  Will couldn’t stop the wide grin as he watched the way Nellie's nicely-rounded bottom twisted in opposition with the movement of her ample breasts. There was no question. Nellie was padded in all the right places, with gently tapering hips, and just enough waist to give her a nice shape—the kind of body that made him constantly aware she was all woman, and he was a man with a man's need. Dangerous thoughts. Thoughts best kept in check when out at sea, if in fact, he’d be able to keep his hands to off Nellie within the tight confines of the Isadora. He already had the urge. But Nellie's presence did other things, things he couldn't allow because to do so would open him up to the danger of letting her slip into his insular world. And there was no place for Nellie and her son there.

  ***

  Will noticed a light on in the Isadora. At midnight, he'd expected to find it dark and Nellie and Mike asleep, especially after the exhausting hours they'd put in. They'd spent their first few days scraping, sanding and varnishing lockers and doors. The next couple of days they'd scoured and sealed the teakwood decks, oiled handrails, shined brass, and scrubbed the hardwood floors. Toward the end of the week they worked outside, scraping door and window frames in preparation for painting. Once that was complete, and the new carpets installed, the Isadora would be the grand lady of the sea Nellie described from her childhood.

  He saw Nellie's silhouette move past the window, then turn back and pass again, as if she were pacing, then she disappeared from his view. Maybe she was too exhausted to sleep. Or maybe she was having trouble with the head overflowing again and didn't want to disturb him. A tempting thought. Nellie disturbing him the way he'd like to be disturbed by a beautiful woman in the middle of the night. And there was no question he needed a woman, one like Nellie, who was all woman, from the tip of her pretty nose to the crests of her full round...

  Hell. Fantasizing about Nellie's female assets was making things worse. But unstopping the head might alleviate his problem. A good taste of reality did that for a man. Tugging on a pair of sweats, he descended the stairs. Through the salon window he saw Nellie sitting on the couch, elbows propped on her knees, chin cupped in her palms.

  Grabbing his shirt, he shrugged into it as he descended the stairs, then he hopped aboard the boat and knocked lightly. Nellie looked up with a start. He peeked through the window and waved. "It's just me," he assured her.

  Nellie patted her chest. "You scared me half to death," she said. "Come on in."

  Will let himself in. What caught his attention was the creamy flesh rising and falling where her robe came open with her anxious breaths. He even caught a glimpse of a rosy crest peeking through the lace of her gown before she sat up straight and adjusted the closure. "You're up so late," he said. "I thought you might be having trouble with the head again."

  Nellie slumped against the cushioned backrest, and the robe gaped open again, though he knew she was unaware of it. "It's Mike," she said, wearily. "He had a nightmare."

  Will sat beside her, but determined to keep his eyes on her face. "Lots of kids have nightmares," he said. "I had them all the time." It had been years since he'd awakened from his recurring dream of being on an ice floe that was slowly drifting from shore, taking him to some dark, frightening place where he'd scream and no one would come. The dream started the night he and Kelsey were placed in separate homes. His foster mother assured him that wherever the ice floe was taking him would be right for him. He couldn't remember where he'd finally decided he was going, but it was months before the ice floe nightmare stopped. It stopped, that is, until he was sixteen, when another, far more terrifying one took its place....

  "It's different with Mike," Nellie insisted. "He wakes up screaming, and it's always the same dream. I've lost count of how many nights he's startled me with his screams. Sometimes he thrashes around still sleeping, and I can hardly wake him."

  "I'm surprised I didn't hear him," Will said. "The windows in the boathouse are open."

  "Tonight he didn't actually scream, just moaned and thrashed around," Nellie replied. "But other times he does. Some nights he's more disturbed than others. I try to calm him as best I can, usually by rubbing his back until he falls asleep again. But then I stay awake the rest of the night. It's pretty emotionally draining." She let out a weary breath and slumped her shoulders and he was rewarded by a view of a lace-clad breast and a puckered tip.

  Fighting the urge to slip his hand inside her robe and fill his palm with all that soft female flesh, he forced himself to focus on her face. "You're really worried," he said, wondering if the rise and fall of her chest was from anxiety, or because he was there. Her proximity was definitely having a dramatic effect on him.

  "He keeps dreaming about falling into a deep dark hole," Nellie said. "It started after the automobile accident that killed his father and came close to killing him. Dr. Emery says the dreams will taper off, but that's not the case. They seem to come more frequently. This is the third time this week."

  Will moved to sit beside her and took her hand, and when she made no move to stop him, he began idly stroking her wrist with his thumb. "Has Mike tried to interpret his own dream?" he asked, wondering if the rest of Nellie was as soft as her wrist. Damn! That robe was driving him crazy… as was that troublesome part of him below his waist...

  "Dr. Emery discussed the dream with him," Nellie explained. "He told Mike it was a reaction to losing someone he loved, that dreaming of going through a dark tunnel represents his period of adjustment before achieving his desire, which is to accept the death of his father." Her intake of air had the robe closing momentarily, but the long sigh that followed had it gaping open again.

  Realizing he was coming up with more reasons to act on his natural impulse to slip his hand inside her robe than to continue holding her hand, he said, "Sorry, but I'm having trouble following what you're saying." He reached over and pulled the robe closed.

  "Oh my gosh!" Nellie clamped her hands over her chest before Will could pull his hand away, trapping his palm against her breast. As Will withdrew his hand, the intimate contact was almost his undoing. He'd felt a sample of what Nellie had to offer, and he knew it would haunt him until he either acted on it, or she was out of his life. Oddly, he found the latter troubling, though he knew it was inevitable.

  Clearly embarrassed, Nellie said, "I had no idea… I mean... I'm so sorry. You must think I'm…" She stopped short. Her face flushed.

  "It's okay," Will assured her. "I enjoyed the view. I just found it distracting. But back to Mike. You said he dreamed about falling into a dark hole, not going through a tunnel."

  Nellie blinked several times, as if collecting her thoughts, then straightened her robe, pulling her belt tight to assure its closure, and replied, "Dr. Emery says it's the same thing."

  "Maybe to Dr. Emery it is," Will said, "but it might not be the same to Mike. Has Mike ever come up with his own interpretation... been given the chance to tell it as he sees it?"

  Nellie shook her head.

  "I'm no psychiatrist, but I do know dreams are subjective. A dark hole might have a different meaning to the doctor than it does to Mike. For instance, to me a dark hole means security, a place to crawl into and hide and be safe—" He paused, brows drawn together. "Have you ever read The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse?"

  Nellie stared at him. "The Tale of who?"

  "Mrs. Tittlemouse. You see, this little mouse lives in a hole in the ground. It's fixed up nice, and she's very tidy." Waving his hand, he added, "That's not important. My point is, maybe the doctor isn't letting Mike come up with his own interpretation. Dreams are supposed to be therapeutic, so if Mike keeps dreaming the same dream, and everyone keeps telling him it means something that doesn't ring true to him, his dream won't be doing what it's supposed to do. Maybe he should read The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse. He'll see that dark hole
s can offer security too, and maybe the dream won't seem so bad."

  "I seriously doubt if Mike would read a book about a mouse," Nellie said. "However, you might have a point. I'll give it some thought." She smiled at him, a pretty, dimpled smile that curled around his heart. "You seem very perceptive when it comes to children," she added. "I'd say you have the makings of a natural father."

  Will looked at her with a start. Until her comment, things had been warm, comfortable. But in an instant everything changed. He recognized a woman on a mission to find a step-father for her son, and he wasn't it, not by any stretch of the imagination. Releasing her hand, he stood, and said, "There's lots to do around here and time's running out, so we'd better get some sleep."

  "Thanks for coming," Nellie replied. "I feel better just having had the chance to talk. Richard and I talked a lot about how to handle Mike, which is one of the things I miss without Richard—" she paused, and her eyes fixed on his chest where his unbuttoned shirt fell open, then moved down to focus on his crotch for a moment before shifting quickly to his face. Blinking several times, she said, "Do you lift weights?"

  "Uh, no," Will replied. "Did your husband lift weights?" He would have sworn Nellie had been thinking about her dead husband moments before. At least that's what her words implied. But her eyes had definitely fixed on his chest then moved to his crotch, and there was no disguising what was happening there. And both of them had unfulfilled sexual needs. It had been months since he'd had a woman, and that had been one encounter with a woman who'd been travelling across country with a pack on her back, a free spirit who crawled into his tent one night when he was camped on the beach while studying a pod of orca that often gathered in the small bay. He couldn't remember the woman's name, and she left the next morning...

  Nellie laughed. "Oh, no. Richard wasn't into working out," she replied. "Unlike you, he was pretty unfit."

  Will eyed her restlessly. There was only one reason a woman would indicate to a man that she liked his body, and there was no question she'd done just that. There was also no question that he wanted her. Wanted to strip off that robe and hold her flesh to flesh, and take her mind off kids and nightmares and all her other worries, until all that mattered to her was the pleasure his hands, and his mouth, and that part of him primed to join with her would give her, and the rush of sensations that would follow.